


Anything You Can Do

by Questions3



Series: Fuzzy Footed Foolishness [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Bilbo, F/M, Female Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questions3/pseuds/Questions3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anything you can do,<br/>I can do better.<br/>I can do anything<br/>Better than you.<br/>No, you can't.<br/>Yes, I can.<br/>No, you can't.<br/>Yes, I can.<br/>No, you can't.<br/>Yes, I can, Yes, I can!</p>
<p>Doris Day - Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gandalf

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy shocking the shit out of the Company. Bilbo's my favorite little underdog.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Mouth is Dry  
> Forgot how to Cry  
> What's Up with That  
> You're Hurting Me  
> I'm Running Fast  
> Can't Hide the Past  
> What's Up with That  
> You're Pushing Me  
> Why, Bleeding is Breathing  
> You're Hiding, Underneath the Smoke in the Room
> 
> Natalie Imbruglia - Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moral of the Story: The only thing that can be shoved into a mold it was never meant to fit in is Tofu, hence Tofurkey.

            The night was pleasant enough as the Company settled in. It was warm and dry with a gentle breeze and the fire was casting a soft light across the resting dwarrow. Óin was sitting with Dori, and Glóin, his hearing horn cast to the side as the red and silver haired dwarrow went on and on trading pride filled stories of Glóin’s son Gimli and Dori’s youngest brother Ori. Apparently Gimli was the greatest axe wielder since Durin the Deathless himself and Ori was possibly the most dexterous and successful scribe of the Three Ages. Meanwhile Ori was on the opposite side of the fire from his fussy brother, being tormented by the Durin heirs, Kíli and Fíli. The pair were asking the most inappropriate questions and every so often a squeak would emit from the younger dwarf that would have his eldest brother glaring across the encampment. Dori needn’t have been quite so concerned as not even ten feet from the young lads was Ori’s second eldest brother, Nori, who was surreptitiously keeping his own eyes on the Durin lads while he maintained a merry banter with the brothers Bofur and Bombur. Bofur had apparently come along on this ill fated quest with the promise the beer would be free, as such the three were happily engaging in their liquid fee and exchanging some of their less than appropriate escapades. That left the older warrior dwarrow to group together. Dwalin, Bifur, Thorin, and Balin were fighters and survivors of Azaulbizar, they were far less jovially loud than the rest but certainly happy recounting some of their past glory and contemplating their quest.

            Each group of dwarrow was bonding, learning about their new shield brothers and reuniting with some older ones they hadn’t seen in a number of years. But there was one thing all the dwarrow had done collectively, and that was ignore the little Burglar in their midst.

            Bilbo sat just outside the fire light on a felled log, watching the bonding and merriment. Her back and rear end ached from the day on the blasted beast, head stuffy and her nose rubbed raw from continued sneezing and wiping, and her stomach churned from a less then fulfilling dinner of thin soup and stale cram. But all of these grievances paled in comparison to the feeling of solitude and exclusion she was feeling as she watched the camp. The kindest gesture she’d had all day was Bofur’s handkerchief alternative, the rest of the day she’d been belittled by the harsher dwarrow and teased by the nice, or just plain ignored by the indifferent. She couldn’t tell which reaction hurt more.

            Sighing to herself, dejected and wondering what had possessed her to leave her comfortable smial in the first place, she drew her pipe from her vest pocket. She was patting around for her tinderbox when she was startled into falling clean off the log by a sudden thumb thrust in her direction. Not bad in and of itself, save this one was on _fire_. Looking up from her unladylike position she found the amused wizard staring down at her patiently, light still proffered as he maneuvered himself onto the log next to her.

            Righting herself, the hobbit lit her pipe and sent a weak smile to her mother’s old friend. They sat in silence, puffing away for a moment, when Gandalf looked down to the wistful expression on the sad lass’s face as she watched the camaraderie in front of them. Heaving his own weary sigh he told the young one at his side, “Give it time my dear. They are a race that comes from much hardship. They are slow to trust and slower to love, but when they finally do it is forever and completely.” He watched the lass’s slumped shoulders, but finding some reassurance in the considering look in her eye as she returned to blowing her traditional, and quite circular, smoke rings. It really was uncanny how well she was at that, blowing one of his own for comparison the old wizard grumbled a little at the slight lopsided end as it traveled through her own. This of course caused a small smile on the hobbit as she spared him a side-glance. Smiling his own benign grin once more he continued, “In time they will come to see everything in you I see myself. Not the least of all being your unique skill at smoke rings.”

            Bilbo’s quiet chuckle went unnoticed by most of the Company, but the members who did hear turned to see the hobbit and the wizard surrounded by a slew of smoke rings and colorful smoke figures. Gandalf was never one to be so obstinate as to fail to know when he was bested, no, he’d much rather switch to a form he excelled at. He’d never let a bird tell him he was too stupid to fly, and hopefully, soon the dwarrow would realize they were being ridiculous slighting a bird for not knowing how to swim. When they did accept little Bilbo Baggins she’d soar up and over their mountains and expectations. He was sure of it; after all, Hobbits were such extraordinary creatures.


	2. Kíli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party crasher, Panty snatcher  
> Call me up if you a Gangster  
> Don't be Fancy, just get Dancey  
> Why so Serious?
> 
> So raise your glass if you are Wrong  
> In all the Right ways  
> All my Underdogs, we will never, never be  
> Anything but Loud and Nitty Gritty, Dirty Little Freaks
> 
> P!nk - Raise Your Glass Lyrics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline check: Before Trolls  
> Fun With Projectiles

            “KÍLI! GET YOUR HAIRY HALF ELF ARSE DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!” To say the dwarrow were surprised would be like saying Smaug was merely a misunderstood gold enthusiast. It had been a number of weeks since they’d come away from the Shire with their little Burglar Hobbit in tow and most of the Company was still firmly of their King’s mindset. She seemed such an odd and soft creature, unused to discomfort or the harsh realities life had to offer. But where most saw her as such, their reactions varied something fierce.

            Some of the dwarrow remained indifferent to their new member, mostly the older warriors. Thorin was sometimes harsh in his passing remarks towards the Halfling but that was the most interaction they had. Óin and Glóin completely bypassed the tiny creature's existence, especially since the lass tended to idle towards the back of the line, as far from the disapproving glare of their King she could get. Dwalin was similarly unconcerned, but there were the odd moments when the gruff dwarf would come up to the hobbit and offer instruction on how to correct her riding stance or pack her bag more efficiently. After the initial shock and fear at his fierce demeanor Bilbo welcomed the aid with a cheery smile and stores of gratefulness. Balin would laugh silently to himself as he explained to the small lass his brother was gruff, but a gentledwarrow all the same. Seeing a young lady struggle caused the warrior some discomfort. The elder son of Fundin was swiftly becoming the diplomatic intermediary between the Shireling and the Dwarrow.

            Young Ori would ride next to the littlest member and ask her endless questions about the Shire and Hobbits in general. It was her apparent endless patience with the scribe that had Dori eventually chatting with the very proper young lass as they traveled. They would enthuse about tea and wine for hours on end, something Dori did tend to miss among his rougher, crass dwarrow. The last brother of the line of Ri had already been paying close attention to their ‘burglar’ out of a sense of professional curiosity, but the interest the wee thing had drawn from his brothers saw Nori’s watchful nature heightened. She seemed a small, weak thing but if there was one lesson Nori had learned in his long and checkered career, looks could be deceiving, and as questionable as his actions may be something none could question was his loyalty and the care he took with his family.

            Similarly, the family Ur seemed to await the reception of their own representative. Now, one would have thought it would be Bofur, the cheery dwarf with the coat that could be hacked into traveling handkerchiefs who’d approach the lass first. Well, one would be as surprised as the Ur brothers when it turned out that Bifur was taken with curiosity over the odd creature. He was, in fact, the first dwarf to approach the lass the morning after her talk with Gandalf. It had taken her some heart stopping moments and Gandalf translating but Bilbo found herself laughing quite a bit when she finally understood Mister Bifur had been asking after her parents because he thought her a child. She explained sweetly she was a fully-grown, middle-aged hobbit, but thanked him for the concern. This did little to dissuade the concerned dwarf and he could be seen most nights making up an extra full bowl of stew for the lass or placing his sleep roll between her and the wild. Bilbo’s cheerful interactions with their addled cousin and her thankfulness at his extra care was what drew the regard of the rest of the Ur family and Bombur would start asking her about hobbit recipes and Bofur became a near constant at the lass’s side.

            But perhaps the most enthusiastic welcome Bilbo received from the Company were the Durin heirs. Fíli and Kíli, upon realizing the Hobbit was capable of laughter (seeing as she’d been rather dire and grumbly their entire acquaintance to this point (she hadn’t exactly been partaking of the merriment of the gathering at her smial) decided there must be something to the lass. They weren’t known for remaining still for long even on pony-back, traversing the line through the day, but they made a point of spending a good amount of time flanking the hobbit each morning. The first few times were met by scandalized gasps and deep ruby blushes from the wee lady as they were a bit cruder then she was used to and they had no trouble asking some very inappropriate questions about her people. But slowly Bilbo began to realize the lads were not that much older then Ori, if they weren’t younger. She began to fall into a familiar behavior she adorned when her young Took cousins came around. The pair of princelings were incorrigible but they were basically harmless, and such happy souls she couldn’t help but sharing in their cheer.

            That was, however, well before this moment of ridiculousness, and the confounded little Kíli had best learn soon that one did not steal a pair of a lady’s traveling bloomers and start waving them about like some kind of kite for all and sundry to see! The little shit had squirreled up into a tree at the first sign of enraged red rushing into the hobbit’s face. And as most of the Company (read all) still viewed her as a pliable creature of gentle lands and nature, none had been expecting such ire and rage to be laying in wait somewhere deep inside the little thing. Even Kíli, as he laughed uproariously at her discomfit, couldn’t believe what he’d been called by the bellowing Miss Bilbo.

            “Come now Miss Boggins! It’s not as though you haven’t any to spare. Besides, they’d make a rather nice emblem for the mighty Durin force as we travel through these hostile lands. What better to instill fear in our enemies then a pair of billowing bloomers with wee pink buds and teeny green leaflets?” At this the lad flapped the pair of delicate underthings in the breeze and had a number of his friends and family chuckling. At least Glóin, Bombur and Dwalin had the decency to try and stifle their laughter; Bofur and Nori were desperately clinging to each other, trying to hold themselves up, resulting in their both colliding with the mossy forest floor. Thorin was cradling his head in his hands questioning Mahal’s mercy in providing him with idiots for heirs, Balin, Dori, and Bifur were looking at the lad with violence in their eyes and Ori was blushing near as fierce as the lass. Only Gandalf and Óin weren’t participating in the nonsense, both having taken one look at the wee hobbit and beat a swift retreat to the far side of their encampment near the ponies. It would be revealed in short time they were the only ones who knew what they were doing as Gandalf had been close friends with Bilbo’s mother and Óin had plenty of experience watching his fool of a brother get his arse handed to him by his beautiful wife.

            Glaring around at the less then helpful males in her vicinity, and burning more now in anger than embarrassment, Bilbo made to begin climbing the tree and wring the youngest Durin’s neck. “Hold now lass, ya haven’ the strength young Kíli has ta be tryin’ ta best the lad in the trees,” came a gasping voice as arms encircled her from behind and pulled her away. This would not have normally spiked her rage if Bofur hadn’t seemed to be using her more to stay upright than to restrain her from getting hurt. With a huff she pushed the miner off of her and stomped off to the side of the road. If Kíli wanted to be a squirrel, she'd treat him as a squirrel.

            “Awe, come now Miss Boggins! It’s all in good fun! Can’t take a joke that one huh?” Kíli chuckled down to the fallen Bofur and his own laughing brother. It was possible, that the moment of distraction was what felled the prince, as he may have seen the rock coming for him from a good kilometer away and dodged. It should be noted that Kíli had the sharpest eyes of all the dwarrow being the youngest and their archer. However, it should also be pointed out that Bilbo was not lying about her hand at conkers and there was a fair league around the Shire of very frightened birds and squirrels that feared for their well being when seeing the young Miss Baggins taking her afternoon constitutionals. As it was, the stone hit Kíli square in the center of his forehead and sent the dwarf lad falling backwards out of the tree and onto his chuckling older brother.

            All the lads could do was moan as the hobbit lass strut back into the encampment and snatched her bloomers back from the prone princelings.

            All the Company could do was stare after the lass as she stomped over to her mount and patted the pony down, reassuring Myrtle that she was the only creature in the clearing worth spending any time with. And when Óin and Gandalf reappeared the healer walked up to the stupid lad and began treating his bruised head, muttering about addling an already muddled brain and how he should know better, wasn’t the lad’s mother Lady Dís? What would she say when she found out about this.

            And that just caused the entire clearing to groan as they were all acquainted with the ways of a certain dwarrow princess. 


	3. Nori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You better do it like it's twenty-five to life,  
> Two steps from the yard,  
> One man behind bars,  
> Move on, move on, move on me,  
> Better get your move on like you stole something,  
> You better do it like the sky just caught on fire,  
> Take me in your arms,  
> Ring the alarm,  
> Move on, move on, move on me,  
> Better get your move on like you stole something,
> 
> Oh, the world ain't ending, but it might as well be,  
> Whoa, I'll rock you like the sea,  
> Buildings ain't crumblin', but they might as well be,  
> Whoa, so let's not think and just,
> 
> Move like you stole it,  
> Move, hurry,  
> Move like you stole it,  
> Make your move on me,
> 
> ZZ Ward - Move Like You Stole It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truly they will burn the world to the ground. Thick as Thieves they be.

            Since the debacle with Kíli some of the dwarrow had been a sight more respectful of Bilbo and her feminine… things. Óin had just asked her not to damage the lads more than necessary in future and was on his way, but the dwarrow who’d been friendly with her became even more so, happy to see their new little friend could defend herself. Bofur and Bombur had congratulated her on an exceptional arm and eye while Ori had suggested he might teach her how to use his slingshot, something Bilbo cheerily agreed to. Bifur put an end to slingshot lessons, however, after the fifth time the wee lass ended up misfiring and snapping herself in the face. Dori had fussed over her for a number of days afterwards and Dwalin had taken over some very minor training with sticks, if nothing else the hobbit would learn to put the pointy end of a sword in the other person. Though her pride would probably never recover from the display, it served to snap the Durin lads from their sulking and back to playing their favorite game of ‘make the hobbit blush’. Double points if you could make her turn a color they hadn’t seen yet (so far Bofur was in the lead, though he wasn’t actually playing).

            Thorin continued to grumble a bit but kept himself in check, having grown up with his little sister he didn’t feel the need to poke a tiger in the arse just for giggles and Balin had told her stories of the Lady Dís who cowed even Master Oakenshield. Glóin had found something that reminded him of his beloved in the hobbit and had taken to sitting by her at night and regaling Bilbo with the epics of his young son Gimli and his glorious spouse. Though long and sometimes cutting into her sleeping hours Bilbo was nothing but attentive to the father, finding his pride in his family endearing and worth the effort in staying awake. He must be missing them fiercely out in this wilderness after all.

            The only dwarf who’d maintained his distance (besides the King but the Majestic Brooding One was hardly ready to admit he may have been wrong, especially not with the blasted wizard standing over him smirking the way he was) was Nori. The tri-domed dwarrow had only seemed to become more remote and distant since The Incident. His brothers didn’t know what the problem was and none of the other members took notice, save a certain wizard and he was just having the time of his life as he watched the goings on within the camp. Because as much as it may have _seemed_ the two thieves weren’t engaging each other throughout the journey, they were actually playing a little game all their own.

            It began the night after The Incident, when Bilbo was laying out her bedroll and couldn’t find her pipe. Sadly, she supposed she’d misplaced it the night before and just added the lack of a good smoke to the ever-growing list of the ‘great many things’ she’d have to learn to do without. She had almost managed to half wrestle a decent nights sleep into submission when she glanced at the night watch. Each of the dwarrow took turns throughout the night each night, tonight’s first shift belonged to Nori… and her pipe?! He didn’t see her watching eyes as he continued to puff away at her Old Toby and fiddle with some kind of rope in his hands. But the next night when he went to pull out his new pipe for the third shift he scowled as he saw, not only the pipe but also his knotting rope missing…

            His confusion was shortly replaced with wicked amusement as he glanced across the way and saw the Halfling had a piece of rope wrapped around her limp wrist as she slept in her roll.

            It was as they were mounting the next morning Bilbo caught a glimpse of a rather familiar hairpin on the thief’s person. From atop his own mount, Nori saw the frown on the hobbit’s face as she glanced down at her bare wrist and caught his stare. He smiled beguilingly at her as he sent the pony off to the front of the pack, whistling a little ditty as he went. And they were off.

            Over the next week the pair traded belongings throughout the day and night. Bilbo proving that hobbits were swift and silent of foot and Nori proving that perhaps there were more troublesome sticky fingers in all of Arda than Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. The hairpin was taken back when he’d been talking with his brother, and his hair comb with it. Her spare vest (bloomers having been silently acknowledged as off limits) escaped her pack with his hairbrush that night. The next morning saw Bilbo pocketing a set of his spare lock picks into said vest. By the midday stop Nori’d absconded with her purse and his picks, and the game was in the midst of elevating.

            When Bilbo hadn’t taken the purse back by the next evening Nori was growing concerned and a little disappointed, the game had been fun, and it had been a great deal more interesting than staring at more green shit or grumbling about all the damn rain. But when he gave the hobbit a surreptitious glance he saw the bedraggled little lass staring right at him from under her borrowed hood with a truly sinful smile as she quirked one of her pert little eyebrows up. Turning ahead he permitted himself a scowl as he covertly checked the purse was still in his possession. Kíli and Ori both looked at him like he’d gone mad when he barked a full-bodied laugh into the dreary silence. He was almost doubled over his mount for a good long while before he pulled both the Hobbit’s and _his_ empty purse from his pockets. Turning again he saw the tremble through the hunched shoulders and Bofur’s concerned hand resting on her back as the lass tried to maintain her serious demeanor, her new purse bulging at her hip.

            The game went on for three more days, this time far more subtle. Throughout the day the pair of them would take _or_ add something to the others person. Nori began by relieving Bilbo of _his_ coin and making a deposit of pebbles from the road. Bilbo retaliated by twining flowers in his head as he slept, and hadn’t _that_ been embarrassing when Dori saw him and started throwing a fit. Bilbo hadn’t realized she’d accidently taken a large cultural step in dwarven courtship by grooming his braids until Balin explained to her why Dori was demanding so angrily who Nori was ‘canoodling’ with. When he’d finished enlightening her she’d flushed crimson and turned to look at Nori where he was being dragged by the hair across the clearing. It was, however, entirely less than Nori deserved for starting this nonsense and she practically fell to the ground laughing at her ensnared colleague. Thorin eventually had to put an end to the nonsense by asking Nori if he was involved with someone in the Company, his resounding _no_ was accepted as truth and their day continued.

            It appeared that was the end of their fun as Nori merely rode through the day and didn’t seek the hobbit out. Before falling to sleep she checked and rechecked her belongings and self and found nothing amiss. Unfortunately for her silence was not a substitute for surrender and for the second morning in a row Dori was set off into a wild fury dragging a dwarf around by the hair. In the night Nori managed to not only place Bofur’s hat on her own head but to wrap the miner around the sleeping Burglar. She woke to soft warm breathe at her neck and a strong arm tightening around her waist, dragging her into a solid body, which was actually quite pleasant, until said solid mass began to grind into her backside and something else rather solid cut through her sleep addled mind in a wave of red hot embarrassment (and maybe something else that needed absolutely _no_ analysis thank you _very_ much!). Before she could do more than squeak she found herself forcefully rolling out of her cozy haven and into the dirt as Dori dragged Bofur up and away by the braids. She hadn’t realized how strong Dori was before this point, nor had she realized just how far a dwarf could be hurled by his hair.

            After a very long very _embarrassing_ argument where the family Ur tried to defend their brethren (and in Bombur and Bifur’s case Bofur’s claim to the hobbit lass (and in Bofur’s case his adamant refusal that anything of the sort had happened and he hadn’t even lain down anywhere _near_ the lass the night before)) against most of the rest of the company, Gandalf finally took pity on the Bilbo (or possibly Bofur’s hat seeing as she was ringing whatever shape had previously remained in the ragged thing out of it (or possibly Nori who’d practically stopped _breathing_ from being overcome with mirth)) and ended the argument by pointing out Bilbo was a genteel hobbit and as such would never besmirch herself in such an illicit fashion. Did they mean to insult her pristine reputation? With the amount of backpedaling that resulted the entire Company should have ended up back in Bagend. Even so, she wasn’t allowed anywhere near Bofur the rest of the day, or that night so she couldn’t apologize, though she did take the time to try and devise a revenge.

            Unfortunately, (or fortunately if you were Thorin or Dori seeing as the first was not happy with the continued early morning interruptions and the shocks to the second’s system couldn’t be good for the dwarf) that night they found themselves in the hands of three apparently gourmet troll chefs. By the end of that incident Bofur and Bilbo had made their peace, the dwarf almost hugging the quick witted little hobbit before Glóin carted her off to prevent any more impropriety. While the rest were investigating the troll cave Nori came up behind the lass.

            “I really didn’t think you’d manage to up my last hand so quickly lass, but part o’ bein’ a good thief is knowin’ when to walk away,” he stated smoothly sliding up to her side with a smile.

            Droll gaze in place, Bilbo looked sideways at the dwarf and asked sweetly as could be, “I hardly know what you’re talking about Master Dwarf. I’ve yet to do anything in regards to our little production.”

            A sly smile lit Nori’s face, “I can hardly up burgling a company of thirteen from a trio of trolls. I’d say we’ve reached a truce of sorts lass.”

            His sly smile found a partner on her own face as she turned to her colleague with a hand out, “I’ll allow a truce, if you teach me to use those little picks of yours. I’m hardly a Burglar worth my salt if I can be defeated by a locked door.”

            His larger hand engulfed hers as he raised it to his mouth and laid a peck on it, “At your service Master Burglar.”

            Her laugh and pinked cheeks went unnoticed by all but two members of the Company. Gandalf, who’d been wondering when the thief off would come to an end and found himself rather disappointed that his spot of entertainment these last few days would cease, and one miner who wasn’t as in the know as the wizened wizard, and so he lowered the brim of his hat over his eyes and walked away from the sweet scene towards his cousin and brother.


	4. Bifur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poverty Stole Your Golden Shoes  
> It Didn't Steal Your Laughter  
> And Heartache Came to Visit Me  
> But I Knew it Wasn't Ever After  
> We'll Fight, Not Out of Spite  
> For Someone Must Stand Up For What's Right  
> 'Cause Where There's a Man Who Has No Voice  
> There Ours Shall Go Singing  
> My Hands are Small I Know  
> But They're Not Yours, They Are My Own  
> But They're Not Yours, They Are My Own  
> I Am Never Broken
> 
> Jewel - Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quoting from LoTR. And this is why you shouldn't underestimate hobbits or people who are a little different.

             _Are you all right?_ Bilbo decided to count it as a win rather than exhaustion that instead of near jumping out of her skin when Bifur’s large hand landed on her shoulder so they could talk she merely twitched. Turning to the concerned dwarf she replied with a kind smile (dog tired but kind none the less) _Fine just Dog._

            By the growling chuckle she received she deduced she’d said that wrong and watched as Bifur corrected her, _Tired. Not Dog._

            The hobbit chuckled quietly as they continued marching through the cavern they’d fallen into running away from the wargs. She’d always had a talent for language, even as a child. As an adult she’d mastered reading and writing for a number of Westron dialects and some Sindarin. Speaking would require conversation so she wasn’t under any delusion she’d be able to talk with an Elf but she’d be able to correspond well enough. Her home library was filled with elfish lore and histories from her mother’s travels before her marriage and from the slew of strange visitors that would find their little smial every few years.

            Traveling with the dwarrow, Bilbo found herself rather embarrassed by the obvious gap in her knowledge. It was all well and good to be so proficient in Elf, Man, and Hobbit culture but she’d never once given a thought to dwarfish culture before having been made an unwilling host to a faction of them. Bifur was a daily reminder of how racially insensitive her studies had been, as he could not speak anything save the growling dwarfish language that Ori had told her was called Khuzdul. The axe in his forehead had nearly killed him; the price for his life was apparently his ability to make himself understood. He’d also retained his hand language, Inglishmêk, and Bilbo had promptly been fascinated with it. As Bifur was apparently just as curious about the hobbit, though she was pretty sure it was because he still thought her a child rather than any desire for a cultural exchange, the two had been riding and chatting since the first day on the road.

            At first she’d needed Gandalf to help ease her into the gestures and growls the fearsome dwarf had used when addressing her, but as she became closer with the Company the wizard had willingly been replaced by Ori or Bofur more often than not. And after the first week she and Bifur had managed to make due solely with themselves as he understood what she was saying just fine and was more than willing to make himself understood. The older dwarf was surprisingly patient, which he explained came from raising his younger cousins. Not only had he been ‘crippled’ in the Battle of Azanulbizar, but he’d lost his own father and uncle as well. The Ur family had already lost their women during a disastrous raid on the dwarf caravans during their wandering years, thus the head of the family and the care for two half grown lads fell to the addled Bifur. Hearing of this one night as she stayed awake to keep her new friend company during his watch had seen tears in the sweet lass’s eyes but she’d grown a strong appreciation for the determination that resided inside the sadly underestimated dwarf.

            It had made her redouble her efforts to communicate with the warrior and in short order she’d become rather proficient at Inglishmêk, with the occasional mishap every now and again brought on more by fatigue than anything else. And that is how she found herself silently walking beside her large intimidating friend after escaping from trolls and running from wargs, having a silent conversation that would be punctuated with her laughter ever now and again, completely bypassing the shocked glances from the rest of the Company as they finally came to note their little Burglar’s new talent.

            “Are they talking about dogs?” Kíli whispered to his brother as they walked with their uncle. Fíli just nodded, mouth slightly agap, as he saw the hobbit’s hands rapidly, as though she’d been born to it, sign how _farmer maggots dog is a true fiend! He’d nearly gotten half her_ something _cousins more than once. But there was a legend running around the_ something that looked like ‘green’ and ‘hills’ had been merged together _of some phantom that managed to come at the peak of strawberry season and take off with a fair share of the plump morsels._

            Bifur’s snort of amusement caught his own family’s attention as they turned back to see him ask the hobbit, _How do you get by the dog?_

            The Ri brothers turned at the trill of laughter the Halfling gave as she turned a pleased pink and replied, _He loves my meat pie. It’s a small price to pay for the makings of my strawberry rhubarb pastries._ Ori was the only one who didn’t find the sight baffling and was actually quite eager to join his little friend’s conversation, “Ooh! I remember having something like that at your home! They were amazing!”

            The rest of the party turned upon hearing the break in the previous silence. The young hobbit beamed at the praise, “Thank you Master Ori, they were my father’s favorite treat.”

            _Did he know how you acquired the ingredients?_ Bifur’s smirk was hidden in his beard but Bombur and Bofur were familiar enough with his expressions to recognize the fondness in it as he continued to walk beside their littlest member.

            Of course their surprise at the obvious fondness was nothing to Dwalin’s as he saw the hobbit sign, _Trade secret I’m afraid. Though it certainly made the pastry taste better after a nice run through the field. Nothing quite like physical activity to get the appetite going._ And, as he wasn’t one to suffer in silence (truly he was a horrible patient, to the point Óin charged him with keeping hearty and whole for he didn’t want anything to do with his wailing should he need treatment along their journey), the Guard demanded, “Is she usein’ Inglishmêk?! When in the name of Mahal did she _learn_ that?! She’s only known us fo’ three bloody weeks!”

            That had the hobbit turning in embarrassed surprise, Bifur in scowling annoyance, Ori rolling his eyes (truely none of his fellows had any appreciation for the zeal that came along with learning), and the rest of the company staring at the two. Silence pervaded as they all stood there for a few heartbeats waiting for someone to answer.

            “I… well… It’s just that… um.” It wasn’t till Gandalf chuckled and came forward to usher the stuttering mess that was their hobbit forward that they received any form of answer, “As I said, Master Dwarf. Hobbits are quite remarkable creatures. You can learn all there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet, after a hundred years, they can still surprise you.”


	5. Balin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've got a friend in me  
> You've got a friend in me  
> When the road looks rough ahead  
> And you're miles and miles  
> From your nice warm bed  
> You just remember what your old pal said  
> Yeah, you've got a friend in me  
> Baby you’ve got a friend in me
> 
> Michael Bublé - You've Got A Friend In Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo isn't as nice or cheery without at least eight hours of sleep in forty-eight hour stretches. And that better come with at least three cuppas.

            It wasn’t that she didn’t understand Thorin’s less than pleasant demeanor where the Elves were concerned. She wouldn’t willingly walk into the Sackville-Baggins’s and all Lobelia had ever done was steal her silverware. Far less severe or offensive than turning your back on a people you’d allied yourself with who were in dire need of aid (never mind that Lord Elrond was as related to King Thranduil as she was to Lobelia (marriage and a whole lot of shared history that resulted in a tenuous loathing)). It was that she just didn’t give a damn at the moment seeing as he were offering food, comfort, and a _bed_ , a _feather bed_ that she could sink into and potentially die of comfort in. Hobbits were peaceful creatures not given to fighting and running for their lives. Honestly she didn’t understand what half crazed race would view the happenings of this day with anything beyond shocked horror, but apparently the dwarrow were hardier than that (read completely bat shit). As it was, she was mostly leaning on (read practically being carried by) Bifur for all her worth and very close to begging the warrior to please carry her to one of the guest rooms they were being offered until the argument was settled. Should they decide to leave she wished them a cheerful fair-thee-well and would pray to the Great Mother and her Fearsome Husband Smaug didn’t burn them all to a crisp. If she woke in the next month she’d send them a letter.

            Upon gracefully disengaging from the welcome at the bridge (read grumbling and grunting their way into the sanctified halls like a pack of heathens, insulting every Elf that had the misfortune to be in their path) the group had been fed as fine a fair as anything Bilbo had seen, and no she didn’t give a single fuck that there wasn’t anything bloody and murdered on the table _Ori just shut up and eat the damn bread!_ Their twice-shy King sat with Gandalf at the high table, chatting with Lord Elrond about their map. Apparently there was some form of moon runes sketched into the parchment (and if that hadn’t grasped the inner cartographer inside the wee lass like nothing else had). And what luck! They were only a fortnight from the required lunar anniversary that a grand revealing required, a fortnight they were being happily offered room and board if only their misguided King would see reason.

            Though Balin was less than inclined to reveal the map to the Elf Lord in the first place, he saw the reason behind halting their venture until they could find what the map hid. More importantly, he deemed it only proper they should accept the hospitality being offered them, as it was a place of safety and lush luxury that could allow them to recuperate peacefully and restock their lost supplies (unless Thorin wished to merely travel across the Misty Mountains with the shirt on his back as sustenance? Or maybe he planned to hunt down Minty, Myrtle, Bungo and the rest of the recalcitrant pony brigade (though the longer this argument went Bilbo was coming more and more sure the damn beasts were the only creatures she’d met in the last month with any bloody sense)). Unfortunately the small stint of reasonable behavior that Thorin had managed at the dinner table when speaking with Elrond, and then after when he managed to reveal one of his ancestral secrets to the enemy (oh dear what a right scandal!) had been pushed beyond all limit and he was insisting they leave now as the Elves were making him twitch (well he didn’t say it in quite those words but all Bilbo managed to get from the long winded rant about Elves and their evil was Thorin was behaving like a faunt). And Bilbo found herself just about through with the back and forth the old advisor and his King had been engaging in ever since they’d retired to the little alcove the guest rooms shared as common area.

            “But milord it would be – ”

            “BALIN! It’s enough! Thorin is your King and he certain knows best,” Bilbo interjected as she heard the beginning of the same argument from an hour ago. She made a halfhearted attempt to stand straight when the older dwarf looked to her incredulously but just ended up sinking deeper into Bifur’s shoulder. She wasn’t even going to look at Thorin, not trusting herself to continue with this avenue should he actually look vindicated by her outburst, she focused entirely on the advisor. As such she didn’t see the King’s stricken gaze, or the shock that pervaded a large number of the party. She did hear Ori’s almost heartbreaking whine as he cast a glance towards the featherbed she’d been lusting after herself. With a sigh she continued, “Besides, we certainly couldn’t take up an offer from the Elf Lord so _ungraciously_. It would be _beyond_ insulting to _force_ our presence on one who so _clearly_ meant for his offer to go unanswered. No, better to be _mannerly_ and leave swiftly and not put anymore of a _strain_ on our _noble_ host or his wares, _especially_ not with winter just around the bend.” Winter was a goodly way off but she figured she’d throw it in there for good measure and a pox on anyone willing to take her up on it.

            The light in Balin’s eye at her subtle emphasis was the only outward acknowledgement he made as he inclined his head towards the wee lass, “Aye lassie, you may have the right of it after all. I apologize for my forward manner milord. I hadn’t realized you were merely trying to spare the Elves any further insult from our party.”

            Everyone looked first to Bilbo, then to Balin, and finally rested on Thorin as the rather exhausted dwarf King processed what had just been said. Four things in particular stuck out in his head, the first being he was dead on his feet, which was unfortunate for his thought process and impeded his leadership. The second was the Halfling wanted to leave, which was a strong argument to stay as he had no wish to agree with the tiny creature. She hadn’t proven quite as useless as he’d originally assumed but really, to be so concerned with insult to _Elves_ when the entire Company was about to fall to unconsciousness standing?! His own nephews were sleeping right there on the ground, leaning against each other. The third was the concern over insulting an Elf, which had a very sweet, juvenile appeal, propriety be damned. And the final thing, _he was dead on his feat!_ By Mahal if he didn’t sleep soon, between the lost nights sleep fighting off gourmet troll, running for their lives from a faction of orcs and warg, and now the first and largest meal he’d had in the last forty-eight hours, he was surprised he wasn’t performing a very intense study of the backs of his eyelids.

            “What are we doin’ Thorin? If’n we’re to be off say the word, else let the lads take up their kip,” Dwalin’s own tired grumble pushed the King to nod. He made one last look at his men. Balin was watching him inscrutably, Glóin, Óin, and Dwalin were leaning against the elf walls watching him carefully, though with exhaustion clearly wrapped around them as their travel worn cloaks. Dori had Ori leaning into his arm, half asleep, and Nori standing nearby staring into nothingness very intently. Bofur and Bombur were on the ground by his sleeping nephews, barely awake and watching the hobbit who was leaning heavily onto their cousin, her amber eyes frowning up into his own. As he stared she quirked a single brow as if taunting his indecision and that just rankled like nothing else at the moment could.

            “Take your rest! We’ll make use of the Elf _hospitality_ that has been so _generously_ offered.” And with that he kicked his nephews who rose with twin yelps and followed their Uncle to their own room.

            Before anyone could turn to the little lass with anything resembling a congratulations or a well done Bilbo had wrenched herself away from Bifur and half threw herself into the first room she found, grumbling the whole way about, ‘ridiculous, pigheaded, obstinate, _males_ and their bloody pride. They’d die before they saw it quest –’ all of which was cut off by the resounding, and surprising considering how tired she’d been, slamming of her own door.

            Balin and Dwalin chuckled to themselves as they moved towards their own room, the younger warrior turning to his brother, “Do ye remember when ye coul’ convince tha’ little snot to do jus’ ‘bout anything ye came up wit?”

            Balin laughed turned into a groan as he sank into his bed, “Aye I remember a time I had both you lads running around the court trying to find, what was it? Ah, a pink silver diadem that the lad’s ma had misplaced.”

            Dwalin snorted from his own bed, “Never even question’ tha’ therr ain’t anythin’ like ‘pink silver’.”

            Balin sighed as he felt sleep rise up to great him, “Aye… quite a… laugh really, though I’d hoped he’d have… grown out o’ his… gullibility…”

            The breath that came from the half asleep dwarf could have been a snort at one more conscious point, “Seems ta’ hav fur the mos’ part, or mehbe ye’ve jus’ gotten too ol’ ta have yur sway anymore.”

            Balin probably would have taken affront to that had he been awake for it. As it was the last thought that he had before sleep claimed him and his brother, as well as most of the rest of the Company, were soft thanks to their wee Burglar’s quick tongue. This would make the second time she’d talked the lot of them out of a less than comfortable predicament. 


	6. Glóin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I walk in the club  
> All eyes on me  
> I'm with the Party Rock Crew  
> All drinks are free  
> We like Cîroc  
> We love Patrón  
> We came to Party Rock  
> Everybody it's on  
> Shots shots shots shots shots shots  
> Shots shots shots shots shots  
> Shots shots shots shots shots
> 
> LMFAO - Shots!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Hobbit: An Unexpected Parody by The Hillywood Show®](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qXFQFnUdh5I&oq=hobbit%20shots&gs_l=youtube..0.5j0.5452.12989.0.14900.12.12.0.0.0.0.212.1696.2j9j1.12.0.eytns%2Cpt%3D-30%2Cn%3D2%2Cui%3Dlr.1.0.0...1ac.1.11.youtube.H2m99o0OvL4)
> 
> This is BRILLIANCE and should be shared with the WORLD.

            “ANOTHER!” Glóin’s shout practically reverberated through the dining hall. One of the Elves assigned to controlling spillage, as that was basically what the waiting staff had been reduced to, poured out three more pints of their elfish wine and watched in shock, and not a little bit of horror as the last two dwarrow tried to drink their little hobbit under the table. But where the dwarves were getting more and more sloppy as they tossed back flagons of wine after flagons of wine, loosing a fair bit of the liquid to their beards and the table, the hobbit seemed to have kept her good manners as all liquid fell into her mouth and down her apparently hollow body. Dwalin and Glóin both slammed their cups down with loud belches and a further glow to their ruddy complexions as they watched the Burglar with intent. Bilbo placed her own glass down, a small burp escaping her that she quickly apologized for and had the two warriors guffawing over as she dabbed at her wee mouth with her napkin before smiling apologetically at the remaining Elves waiting on her. It was clear she was well into her cups by the permanent flush across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose; even the tips of her slightly pointed ears were pinked by her excess. But she was still breathing rather well, and when the three would randomly jump to their feet for a rousing round of one pub song or another, normally at the suggestion of the watchful Bofur where he sat leaning against the wall having been smart enough to know where his own limits were and how to bow out with grace, she was amazingly steady whereas the cousins would normally clutch each other and take a tumble more often than not. The only issue being that the pair absolutely refused to stay _down_ once fallen. They both jumped right back to their feet calling for “ANOTHER!”

            The evening had started out as the all rest had that week, dinner had been served; the dwarrow would grouse and bemoan their lot in life as they found a feast of everything _but_ meat. Dori was trying to make Ori try the cabbage while Nori would alternate between chatting up his new apprentice and yelling at his older brother to leave the younger the hell alone, “He’s no’ a wee bairn any longer for Mahal’s sake!” (Bilbo was pretty sure he played up his mountain accent when talking with Dori just to piss the fussing dwarf off more). Dwalin and Balin were chatting with Thorin about this or that, Bilbo wasn’t very interested in what Master Broody Britches had to say. To say he hadn’t taken kindly to his situation when he’d woken the next day and realized what had happened was putting it lightly, but his pride was working in their favor for once as he couldn’t very well admit to being taken by the wee hobbit lass. So they stayed at Rivendell, he just scowled even deeper and longer at her whenever she had the misfortune to be in his direct line of sight. Glóin was regaling his brother with tales of his son once more, not having noticed (or perhaps just not caring) that Óin had already stuffed his napkin into the ear horn to keep the elf music out, keeping his brother out was just a blissful bonus. Kíli and Fíli were trying to instigate a food fight, Bombur was shoveling everything he could reach into his maw, Bifur was eating the centerpieces, and Bofur was doing what he’d been doing for the past week, completely ignoring her and almost everyone but his family.

            She didn’t know what she had done but Bilbo was pretty sure his sudden change in character was centered on her. Was he still upset about Nori’s prank? They had exchanged apologies for the rather embarrassing (she resolutely ignored the deeper part of her mind that whispered enticing) morning, but perhaps he wasn’t as over the prank as he’d led her to believe? It wasn’t till the miner’s face had started turning an interesting pink color under her gaze that she realized she’d been staring at him for the better part of ten minutes, longing to catch his eye with her own. Blinking rapidly she turned to her wineglass and, raising it for a swig, finally noticed it hadn’t been emptied throughout the meal. Placing it down on the table, half empty, she wondered how that had happened, as she couldn’t remember filling it herself, and the Elves were good about asking before servicing the table. Her slightly muddled mind didn’t have long to ponder as Nori upended the final dregs of a flagon into her cup with one of his more lascivious smiles on his ridiculous face.

            Being a little less reserved in her slightly tipsy state the hobbit jumped up onto her seat in a rather agile motion that certainly took Bombur by surprise where he’d been seated on her left, and pointed an accusing finger at the nasty little fiend, “YOU! You scoundrel! You’re getting me drunk!” and then she ruined any outrage she'd managed to affect by bursting into a capricious bout of giggles and hugging the star headed bastard (read fell onto his head and cuddled the odd braiding). After wrangling the rather fluid hobbit from his hair and into his lap, Nori handed her the goblet once more and smirked viciously, “Lass, I’ve a last blackberry tart for ya if’n you’ll finish the flagon.” He performed a nifty little piece of finger work as he produced the treat in his hand in front of the wee lass. The goal was a laugh, which was awarded cheerfully before she tipped her head back and downed the glass. Upon emptying it she placed it on the table in front of her and near bit Nori’s nimble fingers as her sharp teeth made quick work of her prize. Finishing she turned a beaming smile to the thief as he chuckled and patted her head fondly before depositing her into her vacated seat.

            Now there was a certain fact about Hobbits that the Men of Bree and Gandalf had become intimately acquainted with, and one that Nori had been informed of by his little trainee that, unfortunately, wasn’t what one would call _common_ knowledge. Honestly not many things about Hobbits could be classified as common knowledge as they so very rarely left their little piece of Middle Earth. But the point of interest this evening was that Hobbits excelled at three things. The first being their ability to nurture the land. The Shire was some of the most fertile land in all of Arda, and not entirely due to its own intrinsic properties, but to the care and tending the Shirelings gave it. Second was their love of all things food. Perhaps a symptom of their proficiency with the land and their ability to nurture food from it, but to find a thin Hobbit was to find an abomination to the natural order. Even Bilbo, with her shockingly reduced diet on this quest had only slimmed down in so much as new muscle had replaced a small percentage of lost fat, she still retained her large breast, gently curved hips and soft belly. And finally, their fondness for the drink, but seeing as that too was a product of the land they cultivated it almost went without saying. And really this was in no particular order because there was a diversity of skill within Hobbit culture, for instance the Gamgees were known for their land sense where the Took’s, as the residents of Rivendell would be privy to this eve, excelled in the drink.

            Seeing the cheerfully pink Hobbit and her Tookish grin Kíli felt a spark of what he referred to as brilliance and anyone with an ounce of self preservation would know to be rather drastically the _opposite_ but regardless, it was his shout of, “Well now, if you’ll go glass for glass with me I’ve an apple pie here for the victor Miss Boggins!” And as Nori had been teaching her many things within their ‘craft’ since the troll incident, she had also picked up a many thing, one of which included his almost viciously sly grin he would adorn when guaranteed a victory. And with this as the only permission either of them needed, Nori and Fíli were chosen as assistants, refilling the wine as the pair went cup for cup, the rest of the Company making wagers as they went, even some of the Elves getting involved. Gandalf, seeing no reason not to make some easy traveling change was firmly in the Hobbit’s corner while Elrond’s two sons, Elrohir and Elladan had placed their confidence on the young, sober dwarf.

            So when three flagons apiece were consumed and Kíli had to be carried to his room by his elder brother it was a cheeky wizard, an Elf Lord, and a pair of cheery dwarrow (Nori and Bifur) pocketing their winnings. Bilbo had taken up a place on the table edge where she swung her wee legs back and forth as she consumed her winnings gleefully (as any Baggins would what with their, what could only be politely referred to as food lust). Seeing the lass was still quite upright Glóin, who’d had a flagon himself, squinted at the wee thing and poked his younger cousin in the chest, “We need ta defend tha family honor lad! Come, try yur game with us lass!” Glóin was actually quite the champion in his circle, maintaining his wits while drinking a county into a near drought on more than one occasion and, having just lost a substantial amount of coin to that obnoxiously satisfied star-headed thief, Dwalin was eager to get some of his own back.

            “If you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to take part in your revelry if we may,” Elrohir announced with a downright jolly grin on his Elf face. His brother was far more composed but no less enthusiastic as he nodded his assent. Before anyone realized it the entire Company (with the exception of Gandalf who knew better, Bifur who didn’t over indulge as it tended to aggravate his head wound (nightmares), and Dori who found the entire thing abhorrent and was actually berating Nori for abusing the poor, dear lass in such an underhanded fashion) was joining the campaign to drink the tipsy hobbit under the table. Even Thorin was using this as an excuse to wind down and perhaps get some of his own back from the Halfling. It had been decided that everyone should down two flagons a piece to give the games a more even keel, but when Bilbo couldn’t be dissuaded from throwing back her own pitcher right along with the lot they gave up on any attempt at fair play (little did they realize there was never going to be anything approaching fair play for them).

            The first down was, unsurprising, Ori. The lad had barely eaten from the fare offered and his youth played against him (lack of training). He was swiftly swept away after his second flagon by his older brother, being scolded the whole way. Bombur was next for the opposite reason, seeing as he barely had the room left in his gut to house the vast amounts of liquid after so much food. He cheerfully bid the rest a fair evening as he and Bifur went back to their own rooms. Balin and Óin were old hands at this and knew when to leave things to the younger among them, as such they too bid fare-thee-well and retired for the night four flagons into the competition, Óin admonishing that should anyone wake him for their sour stomach, aching head, or alcohol poisoning he’d shave them. It took two more flagons and a failed attempt at an acrobatic leap across the room by Nori to convince Bofur and the Twins they should probably turn in. The Twins taking the newly injured dwarf to the healers level, leaving Bofur to watch the rest for any further disaster.

            Now, for anyone counting, that made six pitchers for the dwarrow, and a grand total of ten for the wee hobbit lass. At this point the Durin line was hanging in almost solely on habit and merriment as they’d completely forgone understanding the reasoning behind the contest in the first place. Bofur, who’d sunk to the floor leaning against a wall was cheering them all on, throwing suggested lyrics and song prompts at the lot. At one point the four had jumped onto the table, Thorin and Dwalin throwing their arms around the little lass as they warbled about Sterrenday:

Downsides go up- hey!

Outsides go wide.

You can clatter

With your platter

But the Moon slept till Sterrenday.

Upsides go west- hey!

Broadsides go boom.

With a batter and a clatter

You can shatter every platter

But the Moon slept till Sterrenday.

            It was only when Thorin tried to dance a jig that he tripped off the table. A bloody good thing the alcohol made a person’s bones pliable or their quest would have met with a decidedly undignified ending right then and there. The fall seemed to be the King’s cue however, and he wondered back to his room, warbling the whole way back.

            Now it was just the lass and two of the burliest warriors the Durin line had to offer. And as ridiculous as the lot was Bofur was having a rather hard time taking his eyes off the little spitfire where she was dancing around on the table as the lads tried to raise themselves to join. He’d been avoiding her for the entire time they’d been in Rivendell, trying to right his head after the morning he’d woken wrapped around her. But it didn’t seem as the distance had done anything other than make him yearn all the more to be near. And with his wine addled brain he was thinking it a rather good idea to hop up onto the table and grab the lass for a jig or two himself.

            “Bofur! You’re here! Much better company than those two, they’ve had quite a bit too much it would seem,” Bilbo giggled up at the miner as he twirled his way into her dance, grasping her hand and waist as he cinched them into another whirl. Friction was a lovely thing, even if his blood was singing a little too much with the liquid courage to do anything more than enjoy a sense of closeness, and the lass was laughing merely up at him as he twirled her into him and then into a quick little dip for good measure. They had the run of the table as a fallen Glóin had felled Dwalin and now the pair was indelicately piled on the stone floor next to the table.

            Smile just this side of sloppy and far too sappy, but full of honest joy at having the lass in hand Bofur chuckled a little into the liquid gold eyes that glittered into his own dark brown (chocolate, Bilbo’s soaked brain supplied, causing the lass to lick her lips in anticipation), “Aye it would seem so lass. Now’s how’d a wee thing like you pack aways so much liquids? Even if’n youse were hollow from nose,” he tapped said chirpy button, making her cross-eyed a moment, “to foot you’d still be needin’ a whole other person to store the quantities you’ve had this eve.”

            Bilbo smiled sweetly as she jumped off the table and swept him the deepest bow the minor had ever received, “That, my dear Bofur, is a Hobbit secret!” she winked at the charmed miner and smirked as he made to step down from the table himself, only to slip and land flat on his arse with a self deprecating chuckle. “Oh! Are you alright?!” Suddenly the lad found himself with a lap full of concerned Hobbit as she plopped into it in some misguided attempt to aid.

            Hardly complaining, Bofur shook his head in the negative as he leaned back on a table leg and blinked tiredly. He saw a yawn work its way through the lass as she cuddled closer into him, tucking herself under his chin. Shrugging his coat off he draped it over the wee thing before wrapping his own arms around her for added warmth (or so he told himself). Between one breath and the next they were both dreaming.

            The next day dawned and found Gandalf and Elrond chuckling over the sad sight the dwarrow and the Twins made as they clutched their addled heads, well, all save those few souls smart enough to quit while they were ahead. And the groans just increased in intensity when Bilbo came bouncing in from her bath asking what was wrong with everyone. She took up her customary seat next to a disgruntled and bandaged Nori, admonishing him for trying some fool leap of fate like that in the first place. As a result of the nursing of pained heads and sour stomachs, the only person to notice the soft blush that stained the lass’s face when a bashful Bofur plopped himself into the empty seat on her other side was an oddly self satisfied Bifur, who’d chosen to sit across the lass this morning. His contentment only increased when the two began to laugh with each other as they regaled the table with Thorin’s less than regal performance the night before, much to his nephews everlasting disappointment, though Dwalin assured them they’d missed naught but an early headache as their King’s voice was like a drowning cat.

            As it turned out, when the lads had trying so hard to start a food fight the day before they need to have only asked their Uncle as he knew the secret call to war was actually hitting Dwalin in the face with the butter dish. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Cat and the Moon](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RX--cEl3BWw)


	7. Óin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down  
> The medicine go down  
> The medicine go down   
> Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down  
> In a most delightful way
> 
> Harry Connick Jr. – A Spoonful of Sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had assumed, previously, that Balin was going to be my hardest chapter, so of course it wasn't and in fact something that had seemed simple enough before became this. :p but it's done and out of my way so onto more entertaining shorts.

            Previously mentioned in passing were three pieces of pertinent information that would provide some enlightenment into what came to pass after the dwarrow managed to descend from the top of the Carrock. One, hobbits have a strong affiliation with the land, nurturers of nature and blessed by their Mother Yavanna, a people of the land their Lady created for all the Children of Arda. Second, specific hobbits held more sway over certain aspects of nature than others, the Tooks over that which could be turned into drink and the Baggins’s over that which could be turned into food (particularly pastries). And finally, Dwalin son of Fundin, Royal Guard to the ruling family of the Durin line, right hand of the present exiled King Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and the largest dwarf in the Company was a big pain in the arse when injured. Not even a wee bairn caterwauling for a sweetie from their less than attentive parental figures in the middle of a hot sticky day during summer’s equinox at the center of Mount Doom was half as obnoxious or hard to pin down as Dwalin second son of Fundin.

            “WHAT THE BLEEDIN’ ‘ELL IS THIS SLOP!? IT’LL KILL ME BEFORE THE BLOODY INFECTION, GET IT AWAY!” The roar rocketed through their little and sadly demoralized camp. The Company had deemed it best to wait until they were in a defensible area before they settled to tend their wounds. The Óin had set up a small area for receiving the Company members off to the side of the main encampment so the rest could laze about without the gore of the healing process bringing down their merry moment of peace. As it was, the healer’s pack had been lost but the healer had a tendency of keep quite a number of the more useful herbs on his person. Their newfound luck had only intensified when Bilbo ran upon a scattering of wild herbs she assured them would stave off infection, and as the closest thing to help they were going to find was Gandalf’s skin changing friend, still a few days walk for them, the temporary line of treatment would have to be flush with preventative measures.

            Their luck, however, ran out when it came to cleaning, treating, and bandaging the wounded Guard. “It would be a kindness to put him out of his misery,” Óin muttered as he slapped the bellowing beast’s hands away as he cleansed the area around a stab wound he’d received when running from Goblin Town. The real problem with these wounds wasn’t actually the wound itself but the filth those creatures lazed about in that inevitably got into the wounds. The difference between a death sentence, lost arm, or merely a scar was in the amount of time the thing was left to fester. It had already been too damn long for Óin’s liking, but with this none stop bellowing that had even _his_ ears ringing he was tempted to tell the bloody oaf to go and walk it off.

            Bilbo, who’d been helping the healer by muddling the herbs and medicines together into a poultice for application, looked up at the dwarf in alarm, “It can’t be that bad can it?! He’s only been wounded for a day!”

            Óin sent a quick glance at the hobbit before glaring into Dwalin’s growling visage, “I meant for us because the big blubbering mess that he is will be screaming till we get to the mountain. Probably get us all killed waking the beast, if the thing isn’t already dead.” He saw the Guard send him a face and used it as incentive to begin applying the rather nicely formed compress to the open wound with true vindictive glee. But where he’d been expecting some well deserved retribution in the form of true howls of pain the bastard merely blinked and looked to the wee lass, “What’s all that then? It’s tingling and what discomfort this witch doctor had managed to scrub into the bleeding thing’s fading away.”

            Óin looked to his assistant and saw a small smirk as she explained, “My mother was one of the fiercest persons I’d ever known. She’d have skinned you alive and then wheedled a ‘thank ye kindly, ma’am’ from your still bleeding corpse. But the minute she got so much as a hangnail the hills began to run for their own safety. Now, my father was no healer but he knew a thing or two about cooking. He also knew some of the more dangerous traits of some of his preferred spices. Now, used sparingly a dash of poppy can liven a salad or numb a wound. A bit more will have you sleeping the day away,” as she continued she picked up a bright red flower from the stump she’d commandeered as a table, “And just a tip too much on the side of recklessness and you’ll never wake again.” With a smile only Nori could have taught the innocent little thing, Bilbo turned the full body of her menace towards Dwalin and asked softly, “Now, you’re not really hurt all that bad are you? I can always up the dosage if you’d like. There’s a very full glen of the things not two leagues from camp.”

            Dwalin went slack jawed for a moment before pushing off the rock and grumbling his way back to the rest of the encampment, talking about ‘evil little hobbits and their creepy plant magic’s’ to anyone who’d listen for half a tic.

            Óin turned a considering look to the pretty little thing where she hummed to herself as she began to prep their designated healing area for the next patient, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to do that to Thorin iff’n he decides he’d rather put up a royal fit than take his licks like the King he’s supposed to be?”

            Shrewd amber eyes turned back to his as the lass replied, quite severely, “Now Master Óin, I’m sure I haven’t the foggiest what you’re going on about. But if you think Thorin would benefit from a lecture on the properties of poppy, or perhaps even nightshade root, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”


	8. Dori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let Me Help You  
> Take Off Your Shoes  
> Untie Your Shoestrings  
> Take Off Your Cufflinks (Yeah)  
> What You Want To Eat Boo? (Yeah)  
> Let Me Feed You  
> Let Me Run Your Bathwater  
> Whatever You Desire, I'll Aspire  
> Sing You A Song  
> Turn The Game On  
> I'll Brush Your Hair  
> Help Put Your Do Rag On  
> Want A Foot Rub? (Yeah)  
> You Want A Manicure?  
> Baby I'm Yours I Want To Cater To You Boy
> 
> Destiny's Child - Cater To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter were a person I'd fucking punch it in the fucking face and leave it on the side of the road. Bleeding.

            They’d been walking at a grueling pace for hours when Thorin finally decided he’d had enough of the groaning from his most loyal subjects (and Dwalin’s constant bitching about the madness of hobbit medicine was giving him waking nightmares). He uttered a far kinglier version of “FINE YOU LAZY LOUSEY PIECES OF COW CRAP, WE’RE STOPING! I HOPE YOU ALL GET EATEN BY WARG!” before sweeping out of the clearing (read stomping in a hissy fit) and away from the cheering.

            The sudden respite was seized by the weary dwarrow as they groaned and moaned as they fell to where they stood and nursed their aches and pains. These groans were repeated when the resident Burglar popped into the middle of their makeshift camp and began bustling about. At first it had been rather sweet, and almost cute, how the little lass went about trying to help Óin patch them up and then worrying over every little ache and scratch they’d received. She’d even proven useful in getting the real problem patients such as Dwalin and Thorin to take their bloody medicines and stop whining about the taste or Óin’s obvious assassination attempts. But they’d been walking for about three days now and whatever was ‘cute’ about the behavior was swiftly turning sour.

            Most were just shocked how bloody bossy the little mite could be; she’d managed to cow almost all of them at one point by this time. Glóin had actually been heard grumbling how there were some things he distinctly didn’t miss about his wife when Bilbo had threatened to beat his hands bloody if he kept picking at his wounds. They all knew how Dwalin felt about the hobbit medicines and had stopped laughing quite so much when the guard kept having someone taste test his food before swallowing it down himself, having mostly received a similar enlightening medical history. She’d even managed to bully and cajole Ori into downing greens at dinner; a secret Dori would love to get his hands on. And when Nori had tried to shoo his apprentice away from his untreated injuries she’d actually _bit_ him before treating _that_ as well! But possibly worse than being brutalized by the wee hobbit was watching as she lavished the complacent with attentions and cooing.

            Kíli had instantly fallen in line, viewing this as the perfect time to be pampered better than his own mother normally treated him. He gloried in the attention as Bilbo cooed over his wounds, and every time he made even the slightest sound of discomfit the lass came running to pet his hair and cluck at him like he was the most delicate precious thing on all Arda. Fíli had originally put up some resistance but after seeing his brother’s treatment, and being observant enough to compare it to Dwalin’s, the lad had made the first smart decision of his life and caved under the tender ministrations himself. There were very few things more relaxing than having his long blonde hair petted as he napped in the very surprisingly plump lap of their Burglar. The lads were even safe from their Uncle as the little lass would turn a frightful red and run the King off as the lads clung to her jacket like a pair of dwarflings clinging to their mother’s skirts.

            The only other dwarrow taking all this coddling with anything resembling grace were the Ur unit and Dori. Bifur and Dori were just as likely to fuss over the hobbit herself and didn’t seem to mind being fussed over themselves so long as it was in the respectful way the little hobbit managed to pull off. She’d praise their concerns and prowess while she clucked after their health and somehow made the pair preen while babying them (which baffled Nori as he watched his brother, who’d never let anyone near himself or Ori before this, blatantly accept and almost expect the aid). Bombur was happy so long as there was some food, and if it was brought to him even better, so there was no help from that corner. And Bofur was so slack witted in his twitterpated regard of the hobbit she could probably set him on fire and he’d just sit there giving her calf eyes the entire time.

            But enough was coming to be enough as Bilbo started wandering around the camp correcting posture and admonishing them to not damage themselves further by lazing about so. She was just rolling Kíli onto his back where he’d be safe from hurting his strained ribs when Nori finally met his wits end, “Lass we’re not bloody glass! There’s hardly a call for this, we are a hardy race after all.” His announcement was met by some rather hearty agreement and a pouty-lipped hobbit.

            “Nori, you’ve all been hurt something terrible. You need rest and proper care.”

            “We’re grown dwarrow, not fragile little Elves, damnit,” Dwalin muttered under his breath as he twisted around and scratched at his torn arm.

            Lips tightened as Bilbo breathed in deeply before half snarling, “You may mine stone, live in stone, and you could bloody well eat the damn things, it doesn’t make you stone. You still need to take proper healing precau – ”

            “Whatever you say _Dori_ ,” was Nori’s cutting response as he leaned back down. Dori’s yelped, “What!?” was ignored as the hobbit turned back to the thief in one swift turn. Her face couldn’t have gotten redder if she’d been born that color. With a glare that could probably fell a wizard she growled at him, “Fine! Take care of your own hairy asses then!” and stomped out of the clearing into the trees. The Company was instantly in an upheaval, scared to let their little Burglar out of their sight when they were so incapable of rousing to her rescue if need be. Sighing at his stupidity Nori rose, “I’ll get the fusspot, I’m the one that got her all riled in the first place.”

            Fíli pushed him back down and said surprisingly sternly for such a free spirit, “No, you’ve done plenty already.” Then he turned a mischief filled glance to Bofur and smiled, “You go get her back Master Bofur. She’ll be all smiles by the time you get through with her.”

            Kíli’s bark of laughter didn’t help the miner’s blush or his own soured mood but he wasn’t too keen on the lass being out there alone either, and if he had to suffer a bit o’ teasin’ for it then so be it. With a hard glare at the lads and one for Nori, he took off after Bilbo.


	9. Dwalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re a diamond in the rough,  
> A brilliant ball of clay,  
> You can be a work of art,  
> If you just go all the way,
> 
> Now what would it take to break?  
> I believe that you can bend,  
> Not only do you have to fight,  
> But you have got to win,
> 
> Everybody is Kung Fu fighting,  
> Your mind becomes fast as lightning  
> Although the future is a little bit frightening (a little bit frightening)  
> It's the book of your life that you're writing (life that you're writing)
> 
> Cee Lo & Jack Black – Kung Fu Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's got some stones on her. I can't help going back to this, in the book they make CLEAR mention of Bilbo's ability with throwing stones but they do NOTHING to develop this and it has ALWAYS driven me bloody BATSHIT. So I will continue to make this joke till I expire.

            “Show me what you can do lass,” weariness clear as a bell ringing through that gruff voice as it addressed the Company’s Hobbit.

            Bilbo just stared at the giant dwarf (and yes she realized how ridiculous that sounded even in her own head, it didn’t stop Dwalin from being near twice her height). The axe-wielding maniac had decided that if she were going to keep putting herself in dangerous scenarios, such as meat shied for their felled King, he would see her taught the basics. So far she’d failed utterly and miserably at swordplay. She managed to swing it around and almost took her own arm off, but the closest thing to damaging her opponent she’d come was in frustration when she’d thrown the thing at Fíli’s feet (who’d been playing her combat partner as he was rather talented with his own duel wielded blades) and he’d nearly lost a toe. He’d been saved from a limping life by Dwalin’s quick reflexes.

            Handing her an axe had been particularly amusing, seeing as the first time she’d managed to lift the thing (tempered by _many_ failed attempts beforehand) the thing had gone right up and over her head. She’d landed on her back in front of the weapon instead of on her feet behind it. Hammers were little better, Bofur’d loaned her the use of his mattock and sent her spinning like a top in a death twirl through Beorn’s clover patch. Kíli had taken a moment to remember the incident at the beginning of the journey when she’d shot him out of a tree and offered her the use of his bow. She’d somehow managed to not only get tangled in the weapon itself, but then shot _herself_ from the mechanism, and only Eru knew how in the seven circles of hell she’d managed that. Not that the landing hadn’t been pleasant enough, as it had been into Bofur’s lap. The sweet toymaker had not taken the idea of abusing the hobbit until she was capable as well as the rest had, and as such was watching everything happening on the field rather intently. That was about the fifth or sixth time he’d managed to cushion a fall or aid her in reclaiming her footing since this horror had began.

            The final display of her incompetence came when she was handed Ori’s little slingshot and managed to nearly take her own eye out. She’d never seen Dwalin get quite so angry or treat his battleax like a discus, not that she wasn’t thoroughly impressed with the height and distance he’d managed to fling the thing, she was verily so. Nori had even made a hefty bit of change having bet on the over and he shared it with her later on as it was technically her fault the dwarf had gotten so bloody pissed in the first place. So an overall win that.

            But that little stunt had led to this new punishment as, in a distinctly desperate appeal to Mahal himself to bless their Burglar with something even resembling ability, the guard had decided that, if she couldn’t fight, perhaps she could defend. If nothing else she would walk from this field with a skill of some kind, and if that had to be in duck and dodging then so be it. So there Bilbo was, standing there bruised and beaten, big eyes widened to the fullest extent, the left starting to purple as they breathed, lip bitten near raw, face and clothes covered in dirt, tangle of black curls practically sentient in their wild disregard of gravity. She was possibly the most pathetic looking creature ever to walk Middle Earth and not a single heart wasn’t being tugged in response to the sad sight. Well, maybe one heart.

            “I said _move_ Halfling!” Dwalin growled from his stance not ten paces in front of the bedraggled lass. He’d apparently gotten tired of her tossing herself around like a ragdoll and wanted his own turn.

            “I donna think this is the wisest idea,” Bofur started as he glanced nervously at the ragged lass and then back at the near desperate guard. His hat’s brim was practically falling apart form the amount of tuggin it had suffered this day. He didn’t think _he_ could handle seeing the lass getting tossed about anymore, and he _knew_ he couldn’t see it done by Dwalin. He’d find himself doing something absolutely ridiculous and possibly damaging if another hand was laid on the lass in malice and he wasn’t sure he’d feel very sorry for it after.

            Unfortunately for Bilbo and Bofur, Dwalin wasn’t having any of it and had finally lost all patience, “Fine lass, iff’n you’re no gonna come ta me, I’ll have ta come ta you then won’ I?” and with more speed than should have ever been embodied in such a large, muscled, behemoth, Dwalin was charging the hobbit. It was Gandalf who stopped both Nori and Bofur from rushing to the lass’s aid, tripping both with his staff idly as he sat back against the porch, smoking his pipe and smiling that wizened smile of his, like he’d just received the cure for all the world’s ills on a silver platter.

            Perhaps he had, because right as Dwalin came flush to the hobbit, she disappeared. The larger dwarf stumbled a bit as he glanced this way and that, only to turn and see the little terrified creature, unharmed, breathing fast and behind him. Narrowing his brow in confusion, he tried rushing her again, this time playing closer attention to her motions. As he charged again, Bilbo, instead of running _away_ ran _forward_ and dropped to her knees, bending backwards and sliding under the taller attacker. Once behind him she spun up and around to prepare for the next moment of unadulterated terror, perhaps this one would be the one that finally burst her wee heart.

            Turning, this time when Dwalin rushed the lass he came in low, cutting off her original escape, and was impressed as she used his own crouched position to her advantage, jumping onto his hunched back and flipping over his head. The landing left much to be desired, she’d landed rather hard on her plump arse, but it was something they could certainly work with. Grabbing up a blade on his way back to the lass he started thrusting and parrying at her, only to find the little thing rather nimble as she jerked back and forth with his thrusts. Her instincts were spot on as she twirled with him, and he hadn’t seen this footwork when she’d been grappling with her letter opener earlier. This continued for a goodly while, Dwalin beginning to breathe harsher as he was finally beginning to get a work out form the training, himself.

            But where he was just beginning to feel the burn, Biblo was two steps from a fatal collapse. Her hobbit sense of self preservation was telling her to get the hell away and fast, before she fell and couldn’t help herself any further. She needed a weapon of her own to get away form the larger predator. And everyone in the Shire and Kíli knew what her preferred medium was.

            With one final dashed slide across the courtyard, Bilbo picked up a handful of pebbles and one large rock. Turning back into the face of the charging guard she first blinded him, spraying the tiny offering into his eyes. Then she hurled the larger rock (which was about the size of a chicken’s eye really but beggars and choosers dear, beggars and choosers) right at the one spot it would so her the most good. And as she’d been noting throughout the journey that dwarrow heads were thicker than any stone they’d mined in all Arda, the stone flew a good ways south.

            The pair collapsed at the same moment, one from exhaustion, and the other with a rather high-pitched hiss and some concerns for the future of the line of Fundin. Balin and Óin both rushed to their fallen kin’s aid, also rather speculative of the continuation of the line of Fundin, while the rest were in various states of incapacitated. Fíli, Ori, Nori, and _Thorin_ , of all people, were on the ground laughing uproariously at the amazing felling of a spectacular war hero to a tiny, peaceable, hobbit lass. Dori was scandalized as he tried to get his irreverent kin under control. Glóin and Kíli turned an interesting shade of white, the first remember a few of his own run ins with his own wife, and the later remembering the last time the hobbit had struck at him with a rock, suddenly counting his blessings and vowing to never piss his little friend off again. Bombur and Bifur just shook their heads and started a discussion in Khudzul about how one should know better than to underestimate anyone who would face off with Azog the Defiler (they may have also started talking about how it was a good thing their Bofur was picking the lass up now, before they were settled in the Mountain and there were others around to compete with. She obviously belonged in the Ur family, what with them being the underdogs of this little band of merry conquerors).

            Gandalf merely smiled as he muttered under his breathe about grains of sand and shifting the world. His smile grew all the more when he saw Bofur kneeling at the tiny Burglar’s side, brushing some stray curl from her face as he cradled the soft face in his over large hands. His thumb tracing the edges of the purpling bruise on the wee things eye as he smiled down into soft amber eyes that laughed back at the less than proper joke he’d just muttered into her pinkening ear about stones. Not an original line, nor delicate, but it seemed to work as she leaned into his arms as he helped her into the cabin to get cleaned up before supper. 


	10. Bombur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But, baby, you hardly even notice  
> When I try to show you this  
> Song is meant to keep you  
> From doing what you're supposed to.  
> Waking up too early  
> Maybe we can sleep in  
> Make you banana pancakes  
> Pretend like it's the weekend now
> 
> And we could pretend it all the time  
> Can't you see that it's just raining?  
> There ain't no need to go outside
> 
> Jack Johnson – Banana Pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How could it not be eating? I mean really.

            The last time she’d been this close to so much food had been Rivendell and that had ended with more of a venture into liquor then sustenance. Beorn was proving to be particularly entertained by the amount of food that was disappearing into the ‘little bunny’ so she felt it would be fine to try and reestablish the weight she’d lost over the length of this ill fated journey in just the one sitting. She should have known that her dwarrow would never allow themselves to just sit and enjoy the evening’s peace, however. Bilbo didn’t notice it immediately, too occupied with all the honey, bread, cream, and assorted fruits offered her. But after the fifth pie was downed with a healthy dose of mead, she began to see the rest of her Company shift, and Nori beside her, was throwing coin around the table every few bites. He was also the one who’d been pushing foods closer to her eager hands for the past half hour. Now, at this point in the journey she was used to the betting habits of her friends. She was also familiar with their competitive natures, so she was pretty confident in her deduction that she had found herself in the middle of yet some other ridiculous competition of some sort.

            It took her only a moment to realize Bombur was sitting across from her, watching her with no little surprise and eyes flashing with intent. Next to the chubby dwarf were his cousin and brother. Bifur was grumbling at his kin in Khudzul, what she assumed was encouragement, but Bofur, seeing her stare smiled wide and sent her a jaunty little wink that had her breathe hitching and cheeks going rather hot…

            “OY! No corrupting the opponent! You’ll have ta wait to pick up flirtin’ with the lass after she kicks your brother’s sorry arse,” Nori shouted as he pointed accusingly at the toymaker, who had the decency to look abashed but continued to smile at the hobbit regardless of how Nori scowled at him.

            Deciding she wasn’t’ going to survive this if her face got any hotter she turned to ask Nori just what in the name of Green Lady was going on when the blasted thief shoved half a cake into her mouth. Chewing rapidly she glared up at her colleague as he whispered in her ear (and thus, glare occupied elsewhere, didn’t see the dark look Bofur was giving the star-headed dwarf (not that Nori missed it mind you)), “The bets tied at this point Pebble, though the majorities on Bombur’s side. Ya’s think after so many losses the lot would learn ta bet with ya than against ya, but that’s the way of dwarrow, stubborn as stone. Though I think Dwalin’s more in it to get some of his own back after the crack you laid on his eggs last week.” The lascivious grin he flashed her did nothing for her reddening cheeks (or Bofur’s dark scowl) but she ignored both in favor of looking aver the table as she kept her earlier pace, just wondering how the cards were falling.

            Sometime during her single-minded attempt to eat Beorn out of house and home, the Company had made a clear divide. On her side of the table, unsurprisingly, were Ori, Nori and Gandalf. The scribe enjoyed backing his little friend, getting especially angry when the others dismissed her out of hand. They were both small, and not very skilled in any ‘real weapons’ but they’d both proven themselves at every turn. There was no reason to be so damn dismissive at this point in the game. The wizard knew damn well how much a hobbit could eat, and he was placing his money on Bilbo’s lack of proper seven meals being the push she’d need in this farce. Nori just knew she’d been surprising and supporting his habits since the beginning of the quest, from the first bet, that she’d be running after them that fine morning all those months ago. That had been the only bet he’d lost. Surprisingly, was Kíli, who’d seen the wisdom in betting on the hobbit after the last time he’d back the wrong horse so to speak (he still blanched when thinking about her finishing move on Dwalin). So apparently _one_ of the Durin boys could have a propensity for learning. Finally, the one who nearly had Bilbo choking on her next forkful of apple fritter, _Thorin_ , had backed the wee hobbit, the bane to his existence since the beginning of this quest. She must have honestly and truly impressed the dwarf to have his backing, and she felt the confidence like a pleasant burning in her heart, the acceptance firmly understood and taking root.

            But as Nori said, just because some of the Company had shown glimmers of pliable intellect didn’t mean the rest had. Dwalin, Glóin, Óin, Fíli, Balin, Bofur, and Bifur had all backed Bombur. Dori was too dignified, and a little too indisposed to give his younger brother the satisfaction, of participating in this game, though he was firmly seated on the opposite side of the table, encouraging his fellow dwarrow. She supposed Dwalin and Glóin were both feeling a certain need to save their pride from the past two beatings she’d subconsciously dealt them. Óin was a medic and, based on the shock on his face, hadn’t thought he’d ever be so misguided by basic medical guidelines ever (where the hell was she _putting_ all the food?!). Fíli and Balin could just be assuming a strong dwarrow front for all she knew, and she could understand the familial loyalty that had Bifur and Bofur on the opposing side. She understood it, didn’t mean she found it in her to forgive it.

            Something about seeing her favorite dwarf, the toymaker who’d become, not her best friend because that was Nori, but something much more, betting against her, had something mildly savage blooming in her. And it was this that had Bilbo looking Bofur straight in the eye as she addressed Beorn, “I don’t suppose you’ve anything besides honey and cakes. Maybe something spicy? I’m finding the sweets have me craving something with a _bite_.”

            Nori just about asphyxiated at the bug-eyed look on the toymaker’s face as she smirked at him. To Bofur’s credit he recovered quick enough, though his smile was a little sharper and his cheeks retained a certain pink tinge. Completely oblivious to any undertone behind the request, Beorn announced jovially, “Of course little bunny! Let us raise the stakes on this game.” With that he had a pair of those large sentient sheep bring out a him sized pot of what seemed to be a vegetable chili. It steamed nicely as it was placed in front of the combatants. Bifur tried a spoonful of the stuff before gaging and turning away from the bowl Bofur had placed in front of Bombur. Nori tried to do the same for Bilbo, but as he turned to take a spoonful form her bowl he found it gone and the hobbit looking to him for another serving, “Master Beorn! You’ll simply have to give me the recipe for this; it’s simply mouth watering. Do I detect saffron in the mix? And is that honey? Do you not use sugar to sweeten it at all?”

            Bombur had managed to down his first bowl by the time Bilbo had her third in her hands and was chatting up their host, who was finding himself even more enamored with the little nature child (it wasn’t often he catered to such a culinary palate). The larger dwarf’s face was near _purple_ form the heat, and streaming. His eyes and nose hadn’t stopped running, and the mead seemed to make it all the _worse_! With a shake of his head he got up from the table and _ran_ like he hadn’t run since the Orcs, out of the room and towards the loo.

            The winners crowed as the losers groaned, they’d once again underestimated the wee Burglar and paid out of pocket for it. Bilbo barely registered the end of the contest, still quite honestly enjoying her fifth bowl of chili and her conversation about the benefits of certain sweeteners in the dish. So caught up in the conversation she didn’t see Nori smirking as he turned over a small pouch of winnings to her toymaker. But when she glanced back it was to see Bofur smiling softly her way as he listened to Bifur’s rumblings about familial pride, and how he was honor bound to make the lass theirs. It wouldn’t do to have someone out eat their kin that way and just let her walk away.


	11. Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Break me down. You got a lovely face  
> We're going to your place  
> And now you got to freak me out  
> Scream so loud, getting fuckin' laid  
> You want me to stay, but I got to make my way
> 
> Hey!  
> You're crazy bitch  
> But you fuck so good I'm on top of it  
> When I dream, I'm doing you all night  
> Scratches all down my back to keep me right on
> 
> Buck Cherry - Crazy Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She can get rather scarily angry to ya know.

            Bilbo wondered just how bad it would be for her if she _killed_ Thorin _before_ they took back the Mountain. As it stood he wasn’t actually _King_ of anything right yet, and he certainly wasn’t _her_ king so they couldn’t get her on any charges of _treason_. No, not treason and not an act of war, this would be the actions of one lone Hobbit on a not-King dwarf who’d only ever done one thing regal and that was to _royally piss her off_!

            She’d just spent the last, only the Lady knew how long, in that dank, dreary, _evil_ forest, its sickness tearing at her as they walked through it. The nights had been some of her worst nightmares brought to fruition. By the time they’d began to _starve_ she’d begun thinking _fondly_ of a death by dragon! But instead she’d nearly had one by giant eight legged _freaks_! Apparently the only skill dwarrow really excelled at was serving themselves up as appetizer and entrée to anything and everything carvirorous. She’d handled that swimmingly, or so she thought. After releasing the discombobulated dwarrow from their cocoons she’d lead the entirely too large arachnid away with the express instruction to get the hell away. That’s when she found being corralled by Elf scouts was the second skill all dwarrow apparently embodied.

            Now endowed with a better understanding of dwarf culture, Bilbo followed after their newest hosts, all the while wondering how wise she’d be to actually follow Nori’s instruction. It seemed her mentor was actually rather shit at staying _not_ caught. In the halls of the Great and Powerful Lord Thranduil, the invisible Burglar found the only creature on Middle Earth that could out sulk her own Dwarf King. There must be a book with explicit instruction that they handed out to prat leaders and their heirs. She imagined the first installation about interrogation went something like this:

            “What are you doing in _my_ forest?!” **said in a dry voice while looking down nose. This will intimidate and the effect, when done properly, should be instant groveling and expulsion of all pertinent information.**

            “Jus’ out for a bit o’air as it were. Ya know ya’ve one ‘ell of a spider issue? I’d get that checked iff’n I was you lot. Can’t help with tourism, that.”

            **If it does _not_ work the first time, a little physical encouragement is never amiss.**

            Bilbo had barely restrained herself from making the Elf guards fist hers when it slammed into Bofur’s cheery face. She imagined it would be like a rabbits foot (though she never really understood what good the bloody nubs had ever done the little buggers they came from. Rabbits had _four_ and were hardly any luckier for them).

            **Once that bit of nastiness is handled, sneer in distaste at the display of beastly behavior and ask, this time with a bit more force,** “What is your purpose in my Kingdom?”

            Dwalin made to spit in the Elf Lord’s face but fell a wee bit short as Nori announced in as unconcerned a tone as you please as he helped Bofur stand upright (the punch wouldn’t have normally caused so much issue but the poor lad was still fighting off those Spider’s venom after all), “Now dear, iff’n you’ll be wantin’ the _whole_ party pack it’ll cost, and no more free samples darlin’. We’re right professional lads and the money comes first.”

            **Should the previous still not garner the desired effect the only thing left is to sit back in your chair with a poncey face on as you inform the miscreants of their crimes. Obviously you are dealing with lower life forms that do not understand their misdeeds, or likely the better part of logic in general, and need them spelt out. Once you have done they should understand fully your glory and beg your forgiveness.**

So after sneeringly explaining they were trespassing on his lands and disturbing his peoples revelries in the woods Glóin had stepped forward to discuss recompense for the attack Spiders. It was only right the dwarrow should be given reparations for their rabid pets and they weren’t leaving till they’d had them! Bilbo watched as her giggling gaggle was swept away to the dungeons as the Elf Lord slumped in his chair and demanded his steward bring him something from the library.

            Bilbo had then spent the next entirely too long running through these decrepit and depressing halls trying to find Thorin, and, upon finding him, going about and fulfill his oh so descriptive orders of “Find a way Halfling. We’re counting on you.” Honestly at that point she found herself with only two areas of respite, the first being when she would prank the Elves. Moving things and spoiling dinner. One night she’d poured salt into the flagon that the King was drinking from, and that had been a hoot and a half. And the second being Bofur’s ever lightening face when she told him of her exploits. Really, it did wonders for her flagging spirits when she could find her way back to the toymaker’s cell at the end of the _long_ ,fruitless days and lay by the bars and make him chuckle. It was the only heartening sound to be had.

            Finally there came a break. She’d found a way to get them out en mass and in relative safety. So of course, when she’d released them from their cells, they’d all thrown a giant row about it and called her five kinds of touched for even suggesting it. It was her threat to lock them all back up or drown them herself that had Thorin finally lowing his hairy ass into the first barrel, followed by the rest of the insufferable masses. Once again, Bofur her only comfort as he winked at her, brushed a stray curl from her face and whispered he’d see her on shore.

            With all the foolish Tookishness that had propelled her out her smial door that first morning she jumped onto a floating barrel after assuring her friends were on their way and was promptly half drowned. By the time they’d been beached by the town of Esgaroth, Bilbo was a big mass of black, blue, and a lovely shade of indigo she’d only ever seen in dye. She was also sniffling, shivering, and flushed. It was a good bet she’d caught at least a cold and was running nice and hot. To say she was feeling a bit put upon would be mild. To say she looked like the saddest of half drowned kittens the world had seen would be far from exaggeration.

            So when she released her friends and all she received for almost an hour after their release, as the motion sick and bedraggled bastards wormed their way out of their nice, dry, reinforced barrels, she was well within her rights to be angry. But when Thorin made his half groaned comment of, “Next time I’m putting _you_ in the barrel Burglar,” she’d reached the end of her rope and flung herself over the ravine with a jolly chuckle and merry flip.

            The shriek that came from the wee hobbit was truly deafening and had both Kíli and Fíli cowering in familiarized fear. They’d never heard that roar at quite such a high pitch but the recognized it as a woman who’d been driven mad, thus knew the best defense was none at all and they should just sit there, cower as things were thrown, and grovel. Soon the rest of the dwarrow were following their lead.

            “DO YOU HAVE _ANY IDEA_ WHAT IT IS TO _SKULK_ IN DARKNESS FOR WEEKS ON END WITH NOTHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO BUT THIRTEEN BLOODY IDIOTS? WITH NO HOPE OR FOOD OR SLEEP?! AND _WHY_? BECAUSE SAID FOOLS CAN’T KEEP THEIR DAMN HAIRY ARSES OUT OF THE MAWS OF ANYTHING WITHIN TEN LEAGUES WITH AN APPETITE! I WAS A RESPECTABLE HOBBIT AND _NOW_ LOOK AT ME! **_LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE_**!”

            She’d wrecked a number of the barrels by this point. Glóin was cowering with the lads, having a flashback to a similar lecture when his wife was riding low with their Glimli at the end of her pregnancy. As sure as all pomp and lordliness came with a guidebook, womenfolk had a tendency to share ground in their own rants and burdens. Thorin and Dwalin were remembering some of those moments during Dís’s pregnancies when they’d up and abandoned her husband to handle the princess turned harpy, it was sad but they were feeling this may be recompense for their earlier cowardice. Poor bastard had gone through all of it alone, _twice_. Nori was used to being on the other end of his apprentice’s sharp tongue and had instantly ran hip deep in the waters behind them, hobbits couldn’t swim after all. Ori was hiding behind Dori who was hiding behind Bombur’s girth who’d hidden behind Bifur’s grizzled appearance who’d thrust Bofur forward and demanded he fix her in Khudzul.

            Bofur grasped his hat in his hands a minute before straightening his shoulders and rushing the lass, getting clipped in the shoulder by a barrel cover that had been thrown like a discus. When he got to her though, he grabbed her up into a big, _warm_ , grounding hug and whispered his apologies and thanks for getting the lot of their sorry arses out of that madness, once again. As this turned out to be just the right (or wrong depending on how you felt about crying hobbits) thing to say, he suddenly found himself with two armfuls of sobbing, grasping hobbit lass.

            He’d just about gotten her calmed down and was calling Óin over from where he’d dove back into his barrel to check the lass over as she seemed to be running a touch hotter than she should, when Fíli said it, "I hope I never smell the smell of apples again! My tub was full of it. To smell apples everlastingly when you can scarcely move and are cold and sick with hunger is maddening. I could eat anything in the wide world now, for hours on end-but not an apple!" And, with one last shout of rage Bilbo found another rock and, with what had become something of her signature move, ended the line of Durin right there and then.


	12. Fíli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm your only friend  
> I'm not your only friend  
> But I'm a little glowing friend  
> But really I'm not actually your friend  
> But I am
> 
> Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch  
> Who watches over you  
> Make a little birdhouse in your soul  
> Not to put too fine a point on it  
> Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet  
> Make a little birdhouse in your soul
> 
> They Might Be Giants – Birdhouse In Your Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leverage and that nice poppy plant she was talking about before. That's her secret.

            It wasn’t common knowledge but the Durin boys were actually _not_ quite so similar as one would initially believe. Yes they both had a habit of getting into some rather _intriguing_ nonsense, trolls being one of the least of their endeavors if one could fathom that. Both were also more inclined to laughter and camaraderie than their Uncle’s signature surliness. Their mother was sure that besides Fíli’s coloring they gotten that mischief directly from their father. And they were both very loyal and stalwart dwarrow, both battle tested and competent in their chosen forms of combat. True credits to the Durin line, the pair. If either should needs take to the throne after their Uncle the continued prosperity of their people was guaranteed. But that is where a number of their similarities stopped and the differentiations proved quite surprising indeed.

            Where one would understandably think Fíli, as the eldest and the heir to the crown, would be the mature and wiser one of the pair one would be sadly mistaken. Though he was the best at enacting that air of worldliness and competence, it was actually Kíli who proved more often than not to have inherited the brains of the family, though he rarely made use of them for more than troublemaking. For instance, he continued to call Bilbo Master Boggins, but he was also the one who convinced Dwalin shaving his Mohawk was the ultimate sign of devotion for their quest. It was Kíli who was normally behind some of their larger mischief and it was Kíli who traditionally managed to talk them out of the trouble they found themselves in. It helped that he was such a pretty little dwarrow and was used to making use of his ‘cute’ demeanor. No, the only time (excluding those Kíli clearly miscalculated the elements in his game (the most notable miscalculation to date being Bilbo)) the pair found themselves in irredeemable trouble were those times Fíli did the thinking or went off on his own and had to rely on his brother to save him.

            There seemed to be only two creatures in all Middle Earth who realized this distinction between the brothers. The first being their mother and who would argue that a mother was most knowledgeable about their children’s talents and shortcomings. The second being their little Burglar. And Bilbo only came to this conclusion upon falling victim to one of Fíli’s less than brilliant plots.

            She’d been terribly sick since the barrel incident and had been cared for day in and out by Óin and pampered by the rest of the Company. Glóin had been tossed out early on when he near talked the little miss into a coma with more talk of his Gimli. Bombur had been making up a different stew or soup each night just for their sniffling little Burglar, Bifur kept making little wood figurines for her with little moving joints and Bofur hadn’t left her side since he’d placed her in the bed at the manor house the town had cleared for their exclusive use. Ori would read from some of the documentation of the quest he’d already completed while Dori brewed some of the more calming teas that he found around the town. Dwalin and Thorin were as uncomfortable as usual around anything they couldn’t beat into submission, but their attempts to gruffly speak with the bed ridden hobbit made for very entertaining conversation with Nori once they’d left (Bofur always firmly at her side reapplying the wet cloth at her forehead, watching the entirely too jovial thief all the while). And Balin would come in when she was particularly stir crazed and distract with some old riddles and stories he’d use to keep Thorin still as a child.

            The only dwarf who realized that the overflow of guilty care was driving their little hobbit up the proverbial wall was young Kíli, and as such he did the kindest thing of any of them. He kept Fíli and the rest the _hell_ away as best he could. The lass managed to carve her out a few hours of silence and solitude each day with one plot of another. She’d never been so sure they’d all actually live through this mad quest than when she realized at least _one_ of her dwarrow had the sense Eru had endowed in their stone heads. Only a single kink seemed to exist in this plan and it made itself violently known one day, thankfully, when Bilbo was finally feeling well enough to join the dwarrow at dinner instead of staying in her sad little sickroom.

            Fíli didn’t quite understand the over reaching reasons for the slew of pranking he and his younger brother had taken up since getting to the house. All he knew was the hobbit had yet to fall victim, assumedly because she was too ill. Well, she wasn’t so ill anymore, and it seemed about time she joined the fun, besides he still owed her for the rock. A few whispers about said Burglar in receptive ears and a careful seating arrangement had Nori becoming alarmingly acquainted with Bofur’s fist. Bilbo watched in something akin to deathly calm as her best friend and her something more rolled around on top of the dinner table, and then rolled right off onto the floor without so much as a breath. She watched with that same calm as Dori and Ori converged on Bifur and Bombur respectively, and, much, _much later,_ she would find the sight of little Ori jumping onto a felled Bombur’s stomach and launching into Dwalin entirely amusing. Right now all she felt was the combined rage and weariness of the truly cursed as she watched the pained face of young Kíli as his brother used him as a prop to stop his glee from felling him. So she rose with her plate and tankard, went back to her room, and began to plot.

***

            Fíli was having a well-deserved lie in after the great brawl he’d started the eve before last. He still didn’t understand why Kíli seemed so alarmed by the joke, it’s not like _he’d_ broken the tables on the bottom floor. Besides Bofur and Nori were both good sports, they weren’t going to get all up in arms about his little fun. Kíli hadn’t looked convinced, and had actually tried to suggest it wasn’t Nori and Bofur he should be concerned with but Dori was too proper to engage in anything like revenge, Ori was to scared to, Bifur was more direct and if he was going to do anything it would be to attack head on and it would have been then and there not later, and Bombur was more concerned with his stews. Who else was going to try anything? Bilbo should be flattered by the clear propriety her suitors showed her. The younger Durin had rolled his eyes and went to bed at that and wished him a good night and said he’d pray to Mahal for him.

            So his sleep had been blissful and undisturbed, until just this moment. They must have forgotten to lower the shades on the window before they fell asleep last night, the sun was blaring. He tried to block it with his arms but it was too bright, “Kíleee! Ki! Get the shades!” His answer was silence and he groaned as he hefted himself up and over the side of the bed… straight into the liquid bowels and a freezing mid autumn _hell_!

            Gasping and thrashing his head crashed through the lake’s smooth surface, the town floating some ten leagues from his current position. Looking around in shock and confusion he found his ‘bed’ floating beside him. Clambering onto the raft he grabbed the paddle that had been strapped to it and made his way back to the house.

            The rest of the company was just sitting down at the repaired table to breakfast, Bilbo stuck between a growly Nori and Bofur, when Kíli wandered into the dinning room. After glancing around it settled across from their little Burglar and asked her with no little apprehension in his voice, “What did you do to him?”

            The rest of the table turned to listen into the queer conversation as Bilbo leaned forward onto her elbows, gripping her teacup in both hands and taking a dainty sip. Amber eyes looked up at the lad through sooty lashes as she asked politely, “What do you _think_ I did to him?”

            Kíli grimaced as he asked, “You didn’t kill him did you? I don’t _want_ to be King, Bilbo!”

            A sinister little smile graced her tiny round face just as the front door slammed open and the missing prince came crashing into the room, “What in Mahal’s name was that about!? Who –” Fíli’s demands suddenly stopped as he saw the hobbit glaring at him calm as could be.

            Mouth pursed as she finished her tea, Bilbo snagged one last scone before running a hand through Nori’s hair and, without so much as a hitch in her step, swooped down to leave a peck on Bofur’s cheek. Taking a bite from her pastry she walked by Fíli on the way out of the room, pausing for a moment to take in the soaked prince. Meeting his wide blue eyes she snapped a step forward, causing him to jump back and fall over a broken chair, before smiling again and making her way out of the room.

            Silence pervaded for a few long moment before Kíli broke it with his chuckled admonishment, “I told you not to play the hobbit brother. She doesn’t need a rock to end you.” The lad then scooped up his own handful of pastries and ran after the tiny prankster to find out just how she’d managed to drag someone three times her weight down to the docks, asleep as he’d been.

            Bofur stayed at the table with his eyes glued to the doorway and his hand brushing the place her lips had touched. Nori, watching the twitterpatted dwarf, chuckled and clapped his arm around the toymaker, “That’s all yours friend. And may Mahal have mercy on your poor head, Eru knows she won't.”


	13. Dís

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So take me as I am  
> This may mean  
> You'll have to be a stronger man  
> Rest assured that  
> When I start to make you nervous  
> And I'm going to extremes  
> Tomorrow I will change  
> And today won't mean a thing
> 
> I'm a Bitch, I'm a lover  
> I'm a child, I'm a mother  
> I'm a sinner, I'm a saint  
> I do not feel ashamed  
> I'm your hell, I'm your dream  
> I'm nothing in between  
> You know you wouldn't want it any other way
> 
> Meredith Brooks – Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dís is scary. And may still be holding some internalized rage over the fact she couldn't have a pet growing up because her brother would have used it for target practice. Cue cute hobbit.
> 
> She hadn't been in my original plans but I couldn't help it when selenitypotter noted the ladies would be instant fans of each other.

            “MOTHER!!!” Kíli and Fíli were off like a pair of Rhosgobel rabbits before the messenger had managed to complete his announcement. Thorin tried his best to look put upon but he couldn’t quite pull it off. They’d been waiting for his little sister’s arrival for some time now, and it had been far too long since he’d left her with the charge of their colony in Ered Luin. Though not without some little bit of trepidation as he followed his eldest nephew hobbling a bit on his unsteady left leg and his youngest still with his arm in a sling. The pair had been lucky to make it out of battle alive, both having been shot down and cleaved near in half. His saving grace on the field had been his own death, as it had appeared to sweep across him where he lay after being half crushed by Azog’s kill blow.

            The next time he’d awoken it had been to the most horrifying sight and realization of his long years. Standing over him was that shrub brained, daisy picking, and tree-shagging beardless bastard, Thranduil. With that sight came the understanding he owed his life to the Elves. And, of course, as with most of the more traumatic events of this most noble of quests, this horror too was brought unto him and his by the damned hobbit. She’d begged for the lives of his heirs and himself, prostrating herself in front of the Elven court for assistance he’d never have condoned in the first place. Not that she’d been in anyway inclined to acknowledge her guilt in this, far from it. Whenever she’d heard him even begin to grouse over her defection she’d pick up the nearest item at hand and wallop him in the head with it. He’d learned swiftly to keep his tongue after she’d attacked him with a bedpan. Once healed enough to defend himself he’d made the mistake of assuming he had the upper hand once more and found himself being beamed in the bloody head with a paper weight in front of the Bowman _and_ the Elf Lord during an alliance meeting. He took consolation in the fact not ten seconds later she’d thrown the thing into the pompous dirt eater’s face when he’d made some stray comment about his being brought to task by a Halfling. The Bowman, Bard, seemed to be the only one in the meeting she wasn’t glaring at (Gandalf having been blamed for the entire fiasco, though he hardly seemed concerned about the small things ire and had insisted she be present for their peace talks) as he’d been overly courteous and genial towards the wee thing since meeting her the night of her defection. She was heard loudly and often announcing the future Leader of Dale was the only one in the West who knew how to treat a lady.

            The finally reclaimed Mountain had been undergoing reconstructions, all of which were going much faster with the tentative truce he’d (read Bilbo by the rest of Arda) had managed to etch out with both Men and Elf. Dáin’s people were staying till the Spring to help in restoration and guarding the nascent Kingdom. He hadn’t been expecting his sister until then as the mountain pass and East Road would be practically impassible before the Spring thaw. But, as was usual for Dís, she’d proved that nothing stood in the face of her stubborn will and had informed him in no short terms in their last correspondence she didn’t trust him to be at work without her for more than a week, never mind the months it would take for Spring to come.

            So he wasn’t too terribly surprised that she’d arrived in the middle of a snowstorm, but he was tremendously relieved. Walking around the corner that would take him to the hall the Royal Chambers were located, having been a pet project of their Burglar they’d been some of the first rooms cleared. She’d decided it only decent the lot of them have places they could meet to discuss alliances and plans during the restoration, as well as sleep. He’d as soon as slept in the tent city Dáin’s people had erected in the cleared Great Hall, but had to admit the privacy had been appreciated on a number of occasions. Dwalin had also preferred the defensible position of the hallways and the hobbit had made a surprisingly homey abode for their Company. He could see the morale in his men grow whenever they returned to the cleaned rooms, seeing what could and would be theirs once more.

            As he drew near what the Halfling had taken to calling their ‘Smoking Room’ (though they smoked anywhere they damn well pleased) he found both his nephews standing in front of the door with something akin to shock, horror, and apprehension on their faces. Turning to Balin, who was standing there calmly, with one of those smiles he reserved for news he knew Thorin wasn’t going to appreciate, the King sighed, “What is it now?”

            “Well milord. I just thought it best to warn you, when the lady Dís arrived, the first person to greet her was our dear Mistress Baggins,” the older dwarf stroked his beard as his eyes lit with amusement at his King’s confusion.

            “And this concerns me why?”

            There were times Kíli proved smarter than his own Uncle; truly it was a question how the brains in this family had skipped so many generations. “Uncle! They’re getting _along_!” The horror in the lad’s eyes was hardly heeded by the thick dwarf as he sighed in exasperation and stomped into the room. It was upon hearing the female’s conversation that some small fission of understand and fear went through him, but by then it was too late.

            “I have one word for you. Trolls.”

            “They didn’t!”

            “They went and got the _entire_ Company captured by a trio of trolls. And they sent _me_ in after the ponies the pair of them had somehow _not_ realized were being picked off by said trolls.” The hobbit sat primly at the edge of a recently cleaned and aired armchair as she sipped from a delicate tankard of tea (not much fine china had been salvageable from the cleared areas of the mountain, most had fallen to their undeserving death when Smaug went rumbling through the Mountain) a lovely spread of cheeses and breads before herself and the regal looking dwarrowdam in front of her. The lady Dís was amazingly similar to her brother with the wavy black locks of silky hair, pieces knitted into tight braids, depicting her lineage and station. Her beard was far lusher, however, and sported a number of seemingly transparent beads that glistened rainbows in certain light. The largest difference between the two were her softer face, more rounded and what wrinkles were on this imperial lady were around her brighter blue eues from laughter and smiles. She also had a significantly larger sharing of silver interspersed through her locks, but with children like Fíli and Kíli was it any wonder? Bilbo was almost certain the pair had aided in the draining of her own coloring.

            “I raised them better than to place a womenfolk in danger!” The growl was octaves deeper than the younger hobbit’s, yet clearly feminine. Dís glared into her own cuppa thinking of what she’d have to do to remind her children of their lessons. How could they put such a delightful creature in such a spot? They were lucky nothing untoward had happened, from what she’d gathered wandering the encampment in the Grand Hall before making her presence known to Dwalin (who’d been properly jumpy upon realizing the Princess had arrived (alone with no accompaniment or guard to speak of)), this tiny creature had kept her boys and her idiot brother alive despite themselves.

            When she’d been led to this suit of rooms she’d anticipated a run down wreck with dirt, dust and debris still strewn everywhere, knowing her family and their penchant for ignoring everyday comforts in favor what _they_ viewed as _logical_. Instead she’d found a clean, if not extravagant, living space with a warm fire and a receiving area. As she’d settled into a chair by the tiny side table she’d been surprised by a tiny creature who bustled into the room with a platter of fruit, cheese, and bread saying how she must be famished from the journey, how was the trip, a bath could be drawn whenever she was ready and would she mind too terribly sharing the room with Bilbo as she hadn’t managed to make another one habitable just yet. It was like coming home.

            “Well I couldn’t let them go could I? They’d have come back in pieces if at all, and Kíli’s much too pretty for that,” Bilbo was finishing as she turned to see the newcomers idling by the door. With a smile she moved to get up, “I see they’ve finally gotten here, I’m sure you’ll want some time alone with your family. If you need me I’ll be helping Bombur in the kitchens, preparing dinner.”

            Before Bilbo could do more than rise, Dís had caught her hand and, with a yelp from the wee thing, snapped her back into the chair, much to the hobbit’s surprise. “Oh no, dear, I think you’ll want to be here for our… _reunion_.”

            Fíli had a rare moment of brilliance as he grabbed his little brother and laid them both at her feet, “We’re bad, we feel bad, we’re sorry!”

            Dís laughed a little as she carded her hands through her cowering boys’ hair, “Oh, my sweet little lads. You haven’t begun to feel ‘bad’. Luckily you’re injured but we’ll _discuss_ your use of tiny little lassies as a strategy to escape your Uncles wrath later. And we’ll have a talk about allowing people to drug your drink and throw you into lakes, too.”

            The lady turned her attention from her cringing boys to her brother. “Dear brother! It’s been so long. And look at the care you’ve given my sons! Why, they’re almost as whole as when I lent them you. I really shouldn’t be so surprised, you never were very careful with my things. Perhaps why we could never have any nice ones.” The Lady turned to see the Bilbo’s large eyes staring up at her and smiled sweetly, “And look at this sweet creature you’ve managed to stumble upon in the midst of all this! Why she’s adorable. And the only one in your entire troop with the sense to try and _live_ through your ordeals.” The lady was capable of darkening a room with merely her presence; leave that shadow nonsense to wizards. Turning back to her brother she continued, “What do you suppose I would have done, _dear brother_ , had I come here and found you and my,” her hands clawed into her boy’s hair, with twin yelps from the caught creatures, “ _sweet sons_ , dead?”

            Thorin was never very clear how to navigate the tricks and traps of his little sister, but he knew when he was well and truly trapped, “Sister, we are whole and healthy. I’m sorry for the grief you feel seeing your sons in such shape, but they _are_ alive, and will be back in fighting condition once more, very soon.” He didn’t understand why the hobbit had just slammed her face into the table in front of her. But he did know that when Dís’s eyes flashed like that he’d said the wrong thing.

            “Fighting condition? You intend to put them back into _fighting condition_? You’ll be lucky if I let you pass them the bloody _salt_ you great foolish _lout_. It was your _pride_ and _arrogance_ that nearly had you tossing their lives _away_! We should be building _statues_ to Bilbo’s greatness, and praying to Mahal so that he may _bless_ us with the sense _her_ make instilled in her!”

            “Mother, please don’t be angry at Uncle. He wasn’t himself when he threatened to toss Miss Bilbo off the front gates. It was the gold sickness!” Kíli turned big, liquid eyes up to his simmering mother. Thorin stared wide-eyed at his traitorous kin, contemplating throwing the young archer off those very same walls.

            “ _What_?!” Dís growled into the room, rising to her feet and walking over to her stilled brother.

            Before the first braid was torn or the first chair thrown, Bilbo had made use of her hobbit skills to leave the room and her burglar ones to rescue the lads. In the corridor she turned to her younger friends and smiled, “You’re mother is absolutely delightful boys! I’m going to go make sure there’s a nice welcoming feast in her honor. I’d suggest staying out of sight and mind for the next little while, I seem to have said a few things that incensed her about our trip.” With that the wee hobbit bounced off to find her large friend and begin to preparations for her father’s grand mince meat pies. She didn’t feel the least remorseful that the lads had given her twin horrified stares before the crashing behind the door they’d just escaped caused them to run for cover. Perhaps in one of the unexcavated mines.


	14. Ori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been, it's been, it's been, it's been  
> Su-su-such a long time, long time, long time  
> Since anybody touched me, touched me, touched me  
> The way that you touch me  
> So if I stutter, stutter, stutter  
> And I feel so so so unsexy  
> So maybe I'll just keep my mouth shut at least until you kiss me
> 
> So kiss me again  
> Cause only you can stop this stut-stut-stut-stuttering  
> Kiss me again  
> And ease my su-su su-su su-su s-su-s-suffering
> 
> Ben’s Brother – Kiss Me Again (Stuttering)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went through a number of incarnations, but I think this one satisfies my need to have Bilbo hurt something and be all cute at the same time.

            They were supposed to be through with the dangerous part of the bloody quest! Eru damn the self-righteous, self-entitled, blockheaded, weed eating, elf fucking, half troll, dandy, daisy scented, Orc _scum_ who’d taken it into their thick heads to ‘cleanse’ the newly claimed city of anything ‘undwarfish’ and the next ten subsequent generations to spawn from their rotted sacs. Bilbo found herself suddenly thrown with a vicious amount of force into a jagged cavern wall; perhaps she shouldn’t have said that last bit allowed. But really, who could blame her for being a teensy bit beside herself, given the situation? She hadn’t been trussed up in a sack since the troll incident and she’d thoroughly intended that to be the _last_ time she’d be sacked, thank you kindly.

            But no, she was currently at the mercy of a half dozen xenophobic twits who’d not appreciated how close she was to their new King. It didn’t help anything that she was unattached and obviously being given placements of power and influence in the Mountain. The Lady Dís was not shy of toting her pet hobbit about with her when she went about surveying the reparations. She made no secret of her regard for the levelheaded hobbit. Then there were the boys. Fíli and Kíli had taken to calling her ‘Auntie Bilbo’, which, though she found it entirely sweet, had only added to the precarious nature of her existence in Erebor. Thorin had also insisted, under Balin’s direction, she be placed in charge of dwarf elf relations. She’d already been weaving the alliances together with the aid of her handy paperweight, but this was a position, as dwarrow envoy. She was declared an official Dwarf friend by Thorin and entitled to the position and riches that came with it. Her placement in Erebor was firmly cemented, and this was causing some strife, though at first it wasn’t quite so obvious.

            The first attempt on her life had been rather mild, in hindsight, and during the winter shut in. During the harsh winters in the West the Mountain was shuttered to weather through the worst of the blizzards, which was what had made Dís’s arrival so frightening. She could have very well fell to the harsh elements well before she’d reached the safety of Erebor. The only thing that had saved the princess from meeting immobile gates upon her arrival during the third blizzard of the season had been Bilbo’s sad experience during the first one. Since being locked out for the better part of a day during the harshest winter she’d ever remembered, only saved by a group of visiting Elves bringing supplies they’d been bartered for, the gates had been manned at all times in order to assure a similar incident didn’t happen again. Thorin had raged about the ridiculousness of the fussy hobbit but had been one of those who’d stayed by her side till she’d finally stopped shivering during Óin’s ministrations. He’d been riddled with a fair amount of guilt seeing as he’d not thought to keep the guard in the first place.

            The incident, singular as it was, and rather ridiculous, had been passed off as accident, and since there were no lasting effects to anyone, life had moved on. The second incident, however, was far more direct. A group of Daín’s disgruntled men had thought to see her thrown over a chasm into an unfinished mine. Apparently they hadn’t taken too kindly to her telling them what rooms needed priority, even if she was actually relaying orders from Dís herself. They hadn’t been near as smart as the first lot apparently, as they’d merely picked her up bodily and thrown her down a hole. She’d been saved by the simple existence of some rather luminescent fungi. The fall from Goblin City to Gollum’s cavern had been farther than the empty shaft, and the glow in the dark fungus in Erebor was much larger than that she’d landed on in the Misty Mountains. It _had_ taken Nori a week to discover what had happened to her, and Bofur about a day to rappel down to her little cavern, but the mushroom had tasted rather well and water had been part of the trick to their luminescence magically. A more fortuitous event couldn’t have been conceptualized. These considerations were taken into account when Daín personally threw her attackers into their own pit. The bodies were recovered for their families, but the beards were removed to announce their disgrace.

            The next attempt had been far less charming as it had involved a runaway cavern form the newly arrived dwarrow at the beginning of the Spring Thaw. She’d come to the gates to await the arrival of Glóin’s wife, Vaíl, and his son, Gimli. They would have come with Dís but the red haired dwarrowdam had thought it wiser to wait for the safety it would afford her son. Well it took very little to startle a tired and road worn pony dragging a large wagon. And it took even less effort to maneuver a tiny hobbit into its path, the child who’d stumbled inot the path of the creature hadn’t even been orchestrated. As it turned out the child was young Gimli and his mother was not only thankful that the wee hobbit had risked her life and the use of her arm for the better part of two months, but beyond enraged by the infraction. Those dwarrow hadn’t survived their reparations any better then the miners from the second incident.

            Of course, that had one more dwarrow of the royal Durin line calling Bilbo Auntie, as well as the rest of the Company’s overprotective instincts beyond full alert. She was never alone, always in someone’s sights. Nori was the one who seemed to shadow her most, being the most used to going about unseen and unnoticed. She noticed, but the rest of the population could pretend she wasn’t being watched like a fauntling. But when Nori was off trying to prevent some assassination to the direct line of Durin Bifur was very happy to act as a bodyguard. He’d go around growling at anyone who looked at her, whether it was insidious or not. When she wasn’t being shadowed by the those two, she was in the company of the royals, running errands, in meetings, or dragging the lads out of a hidey-hole to complete their duties as heirs. At night the whole company would meet in the Royal dinning area they’d reserved for private meals and rehash the days work. Bofur would normally be the one who walked her to her rooms, sharing a moment of sweet solitude and wheedle a brilliant smile from her before bed. Her rooms had been placed next to Dís and across from her new friend Vaíl. But even Nori couldn’t be _in_ her rooms.

            So here she found herself, in her nightshirt being dragged through musty, half cleared, mine caverns by these inbred dullards. She’d screamed when she’d come to but the Lady knew where the hell they’d managed to drag her by that point and she was hardly going to be missed before the morning. No, her escape lay in her own hands. Tied hands. Tied to her feet and wrapped in a sack she recognized as one used to cart broken rubble to the gates. Why was this her life? Thorin would probably view this as the last straw and kick her out of Erebor for his own sanity if not her safety.

            With a sight that wasn’t heard as her attackers had decided they wouldn’t be kind enough to speak in Westron but resort to their blessed grumbling language. Glancing around, as they seemed to be arguing over something, she saw they were touring through what looked to be a vein of copper. Bofur had taken her on a walk through the excavated mines and shown her the difference between the rock formations (not that she’d been particularly attentive to the lessons, more interested in the way his hand had been rubbing warm circles into the small of her back as he guided her down the lanes). If this was, in fact, a copper vein, they’d gone through the Westerly tunnels, that hadn’t been completely secured just yet. If she remembered correctly, Bofur had mentioned a few rather alarming steam pockets that had been discovered by some unfortunate miners. They’d lived but they weren’t happy about it right that moment. The steam had been a result of shifting temperature from weather and dragon fire and the pressure of collapsing tunnels. Now, as useful as that information was, she didn’t recall any kind of information about how to divine the local of one such pocket.

            She’d been staring at a particularly damp piece of stone when one of her kidnappers decided to get a wee bit handsy through her sack, “What the hell do you think you’re touching?!” She yelped as the bastard chuckled darkly, grasping her thigh through the harsh material, digging his meaty fingers into the giving flesh. “I can see why the Longbeards would want to plow something so soft and giving,” this growled statement was accompanied by a shifting of grip to her ass. With that her vision faded to red and she showed him exactly how much of her ‘soft and giving’ meat was muscle. He fall but flew across the way, knocking one of his friends right into the piece of rock she’d been staring at. As he hit it, the thwack crumbled the weakened stone and hissing steam bellowed out into the cavern, melting skin off the standing dwarrow.

            The screams were immense as she wiggled her way under the steam and through the twisting and running limbs. She’d almost managed to slip through an opening when the felled bastard she’d kicked grasped her canvased feet and all but crushed them. Her pained scream was halted when the painful grip stopped suddenly. Her attacker’s pained scream, however, wouldn’t stop until after Bofur’s mattock landed through his skull. And her own horrified yell wouldn’t end until Nori, rolling his eyes, dislodged the still twitching hand he’d severed. “With everything we’ve seen and done since meeting, I’d think this would be the least of your worries,” the star haired bastard waved the bloody appendage at her, which had two simultaneous effects. One, it had her yells cutting short to be replaced by a scowl she reserved specifically for the cocky ass. And two, her turning an interesting green that prompted Bofur to grab her up and rush the wee hobbit out of the cavern. They settled, the three of them, in the corridor outside the now steaming room as a faction of dwarrow, led by Dwalin, went into the rapidly cooling cavern and collected the screaming louts.

            “Thorin’s gonna have you exported back to the Shire faster than Dís can break a chair over ‘is head,” Nori noted as he watched the dire face miner tear the offending sack from their little friend. He was less than pleased they’d failed to keep his protégé safe… _again_! But he wasn’t under any delusion this was going to stop anytime soon.

            “What do ya mean? It’s hardly ‘er falt! If anythin’ it’s ours fur no’ keepin’ a keener eye on the lass,” Bofur growled as he stood the hobbit up against the wall and looked her over for any damage. She was a wee bit red in the face, but he was familiar enough with her blushin’ face, it was his favored expression. But right now even that didn’t have the power to make ‘im feel anything but rage as he spied the deep bruising beginin’ to form on her upper thighs. His core quivered in fear thinkin’ what intention that would be indicative of. If he hadn’t come back to her room to finally ask her the question he’d been beating about the bush for weeks to ask, they wouldn’t have known she’d been taken till the next mornin’.

            “Yeah, but if she keeps gettin’ caught it’s only a matter of time before her deaths on our heads. Not like someone can be with her at all hours. Dís might ‘ave been able to iff’n that wouldn’t have just exacerbated the situation. You’ve ‘eard the whispers same as me.” Nori shrugged as he picked his nails with one of his knives and continued to watch the pinkened lass as she swayed in his friend’s arms. He wasn’t one to let an opportunity slip by, and if these two kept this dance up too much longer he was going to just throw the pair down a well until they’d sorted their shit out.

            “Wait,” Bilbo’s amber eyes sharpened in the darkness as she glanced between her two dearest dwarrow, “What whispers? I thought this was a hobbit thing?”

            Nori snorted as Bofur scowled at him, “It’s certainly no help, but they’d hardly be tryin’ so hard ta end you for bein’ a different race. Well, maybe if you were an elf.”

            “Then what are you talking about? Why are they doing this if it’s not some…” suddenly the comment the dead dwarrow made came back in a clearer light. “I’m not the Durin _whore_! How could anyone _think_ that!? Fíli and Kíli are _children_!”

            Nori shrugged, “Old enough to know what to do with that which dangles. It’s no’ helping you’re unattached and such high profile.” He’d have laughed at the big eyed, drowning fish face she’d made at that. He liked the way she turned red too, as it were, just not for the same reasons as a certain toymaker. Nori found it endearing, reminding him of Ori when he was cornered about his little romantic writing habit. The lad would stutter for hours afterwards, completely embarrassed. Then he’d not talk to Nori for about a week.

            “I… you… what!? NO! Nori! How could you be so… GAH!” Bilbo just stomped her foot and slammed her face into her hands. What was she thinking?! She didn’t belong here with these half crazed, stone headed, dwarrow! They were all mad!

            “Well now, I wouldn’ go tha’ far lass. Some of us ‘ave a few more than half our wits abou’ us,” Bofur’s gentle nudge reminded her that she really needed to work on keeping her thoughts to herself. The toymaker’s callused hands were grasping her own gently and taking them away from her burning face. She watched as his gently teasing look was replaced by something a little warmer and not so amused, more softness than joking. It had her caught as he moved one of their clenched hands to hover over his heart, and one over her own. “I’ve a way ta solve all our problems, lass. Assumin’ you’d be partial to it yurself.”

            “I thought this was only my problem,” her voice was barely a whisper, but that was okay as he’d moved closer to her when she wasn’t looking. Not that she minded, she hadn’t realized how cold the hall was until it had been replaced with the warmth from her miner.

            “Well, ye see lass, I’ve a tremendous need ta see ya safe and happy. It’s damn distracting when I’m off in the thick of things wonderin’ what yur doin’ all day, whether you’ve had enough ta eat, have them lads driven ya mad yet. Seein’ ya shiverin’ here is just about tearin’ me up,” Bilbo found herself near flush to the dwarf’s front, just a breath of space between the two, as he leaned closer, whispering directly into her pointed ear, dragging a new kind of shiver from the tiny hobbit. “I wanna grab ya close and warm ya up meself, savin’ it wouldn’ be exactly proper. An’ then there are those times we’re jus’ this side of too busy. I don’ get ta see ya for days at a stretch cause we’re both more interested in stumblin’ ta bed after the work’s over.” Dark brown eyes burned as they stared into wide ambers. “Well, tha’s been turnin’ wha’s left o’ me head right round. And seein’ as you need ta be more ‘attached’ and I’ve a hankerin’ ta be attached to ya, I think a smart wee one such as yurself can see the solution.”

            Bilbo gapped for about three seconds after that inelegant proposal before turning Bofur into a mess of stuttering nonsense himself as she seized his lips with her own in answer.

            “About bloody time!” Dwalin drawled as he came back to stand next to the chuckling thief. Nori just nodded as he rolled his eyes and muttered something about getting back to bed.


	15. Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So come here a little closer  
> Wanna whisper in your ear  
> Make it clear, little question  
> Wanna know just how you feel
> 
> If I said my heart was beating loud  
> If we could escape the crowd somehow  
> If I said I want your body now  
> Would you hold it against me?
> 
> Britney Spears – Hold It Against Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not good at the whole 'ooh look sex' thing. But here's my stab at it. I'm not even sure this is actually considered Explicit but I wanted to be sure I didn't surprise anyone with 'ooh look sex' in the middle of a chapter.

            The wedding had been beautiful. Dís saw to that. It was the second grand ceremony taking place in the newly restored Erebor, the first having been Thorin’s coronation. The newly crowned King resided over it, blessing it as the pair blessed the Mountain in good fortune and love with their union. Most of the insurrections from before had died down now that it was clear the burglar wasn’t making a mockery of the Durin line, and seeing as the marriage was deemed a positive omen for the prosperity of the Mountain there were far less grumbling. There would probably never be a cessation of the xenophobia, but at least it was a more manageable dosage, or so Nori would complain at every opportunity.

            That opportunity, of course, included his wedding speech. He’d stood up for the lass, along with Lady Dís at the altar, Bifur and Bombur standing for Bofur. His wee protégé didn’t have family (none that would make that trip in any event (save some cousins but they’d been blessed with a wee one of their own who couldn’t very well make such a long journey safely) and thus uncounted by the majority of the Company as real family (really, they preferred to think of her as theirs anyway, this just made it all the more official)) and it was an honor to be seen as such a close surrogate by his dear friend (though you could beat him blue before he admit it to Dori who’d gotten it into his bloody head the proper Lady had been rubbing off on his errant brother). So with a suspicious sparkling of his eyes he’d given his welcome/shovel speech to the pair of them as was traditionally the job of the father of the bride, noting all the usual things, honor, love, acceptance. And then he’d went and spoiled all the moving mishmash with:

            “And so I leave ‘er in your hands now Bofur, so that you may teach her things she’d never have let me do, and Mahal bless ya with the endurance of the ages as she’s feisty as any thats wed,” his lascivious smile was back and would have normally gotten a thunk from the wee hobbit had Dori not done it for her and she not been in such a good mood.

            As the laughter erupted after Nori’s very lewd toast Bofur’s new little wife blushed deeply, possibly his favorite expression on her round face, and turned her glowing continence into his neck, much to the further amusement of the gathering. What their audience didn’t see and what sent Bofur into an agony of surprise and arousal, was the demur act covering for the little minx to _bite_ him on the neck. He only just managed to bite back his own yelp but could do nothing for the shudder that went through him, especially when she lapped at the tiny injury with her quick little tongue before drawing back and sending him such a sultry look it became his new favorite expression. What was this?!

            Little known fact about hobbits; they enjoyed the small pleasures in life. A good meal with good friends and a warm hearth was enough to satisfy even the most taciturn of the lot. A grand tupping even better. Though the proper Baggins and honorable Tooks did have a tendency to wait for marriage and proper courtship it wasn’t unusual for some randy play to be exchanged before that most sacred of bonding nights. Bilbo’s father was the only thing that held her mother in check for the entirety of their courtship, insisting they be wed and properly instilled in their home before they engaged in anything more carnal than a peck or two. Of course, Miss Belladonna was pleasantly surprised on her own wedding night upon finding her new husband, for all his propriety, was just as wild for her and she’d been for him, just more inclined to make it count. Bilbo, for all her Tookish habits, was still very firmly a Baggins lass, and was quite eager to show it to her new husband.

            First they had to get past this bloody feast! She’d been perfectly calm and properly honored and enamored with the ceremony. Staring softly into her betroths smiling brown eyes, cradling his callused hands in her own small ones as they exchanged heart warming promises, blushing warmly at the sweet kiss that sealed their fate. She’d done everything a good little hobbit bride should. Now she was ready to wipe the smile from those brown eyes and replace it with something hotter, feel those callouses in places the friction could wrench howls from her over heating body, and ravage that mouth that now belonged to her and no one else with her own. But first the bleeding feast. Really! Didn’t these dwarrow have any sense of consideration? At least hobbits had the sense to order the series of events in the order of importance!

            So Bilbo found herself easing into a seat next to her new husband, cheerily accepting her well-wishers gifts and loving friends’ grand gestures. Nori’s little speech did _nothing_ to her libido that hadn’t already been set to ringing since Thorin had officially granted her claim over her toymaker so no real harm there. But it had been a grand opportunity to relieve some of her eager curiosity over exactly what her dwarf tasted like. And she’d hardly been disappointed by the warm, silky feel of the rarely exposed flesh as his neck gave a bit under her tiny flashing pearls. Feeling his tremor she apologized for the roughness with her quick little tongue and sat back in her chair, putting herself on her best behavior. For the moment at least.

            Her behavior didn’t last for very long. She was sitting with Nori on her left and Dís on the left of him. Bifur and Bombur on Bofur’s right where he sat to her right at the grand table in the Great Hall. Thorin had granted them the honor of seating in front of his own honored seat on the raised platform, Kíli and Fíli flanking him, and the rest of the Company scattered around them. They were well ensconced in their friends and the added insulation was making Bilbo less inclined to behave in the traditional proper fashion of her Baggins ancestors. Had she been sitting near strangers Bofur may have survived quite a bit longer into the meal then he did.

            As it was, after her third glass of wine that had done nothing to quench her parched throat, a clattering of forks to glasses was heard throughout the hall, a command for a display of affection from the newly weds. Obviously, the peck the miner gave his lovely little hobbit wasn’t going to do anything for the wee one and so she took things into her own hands, literally.

            Where’d his sweet little shy wife gone off to?! He wasn’t familiar with this new one in her place. His would blush when he held her hand overlong in the halls! Now she was cupping him under a table and Mahal save him, honey eyes hooding as she leaned into his side and brushed her plump lips against the lobe of his ear as her throat let out a vibrating purr that went straight down his own spine. His sharp intake of breath was swiftly followed by an aborted groan as tiny hands began to pet the inside of his thigh, grasping at the muscle there. It took him all of a minute to realize the lass was actually measuring the newly quivering flesh, and he wasn’t quite sure how to take the small hum of approval he was receiving in the guise of a whispered comment. But he was pretty sure blatant pride and excitement in the hall of his forefathers surrounded by all of sundry (quite literally) wasn’t the proper instinct.

            It wasn’t until Thorin cleared his throat that Bofur realized he’d been staring rather hard at the center of the table and ignoring the conversation floating around them completely. He took the distracting hand away from himself, cradling it between them as he tuned back into the table, “Wat was tha’ milord?”

            “I was asking what you were planning to do for lodging now that you’re wed. Surely Bilbo and yourself would enjoy your own home? We can arrange for something closer to the Royal compartments to be refurbished for your needs,” Thorin looked slightly chaffed at having to repeat himself but was happy to brush it off as over enthusiastic newlywed inattention. Better to be done with here than in the mines, as Bofur was still very essential to the workings of the basis of the Mountains main source of wealth.

            “That won’t be necessary Thorin, though it is very sweet of you to offer. I imagine Bofur wouldn’t want to leave Bombur and Bifur, and their caverns are quite spacious as it were. We’ll be more than fine, and they’ll be closer to Bofur’s workplace after all, being right above the central mine shafts.” The sweet smile being sent to the King was possibly the biggest lie Bofur had ever _seen_ on a person. During that little speech the little vamp had just taken their joined hands into her own lap. Nothing to worry about, or so Bofur’d thought, before he’d suddenly felt the shift of bared flesh. His spine straightened as his hands was run up warm, silky thigh. It would have gone further still if his convulsive grasp hadn’t fixed onto the now quivering mass. He saw the flush in his little wife’s face as she appreciated the attention, but it hadn’t so much as hitched her speech as she’d talked to the bloody _King of Erebor_.

            “I think Thorin was rather hoping to keep his envoy close at hand, dear. It’s almost a guarantee he’ll be needing you more and more as we begin – ” whatever Lady Dís was going to ‘begin’ was cut off abruptly as Bofur jumped out of his seat and threw his bride up and over his shoulder. Apparently, with her hand no longer captive since his own had found itself a nice plump home, Bilbo had traveled back into his lap and forgone all previous activity in favor of reaching _into_ his breeches and laying claim to what was hers by rights. With a clearly strained “good eve’” he all but _ran_ out the room. The hall was entirely too amused by the obvious amore of the newlywed groom to notice the bride’s hands clamp and caress her fleeing husband’s backside.

            Bofur was barely breathing by the time he’d managed to set his wife down and slam the door to their marriage chambers closed. Which was actually rather good for him, as it turned out, since not even two seconds after, any remaining breath was wrenched form his lungs as his hobbit jumped up into his arms, wrapping those cushioned thighs around his waist and fusing their mouths together. He let loose the groan he’d been holding at bay the entire appetizer (cause dinner hadn’t even been _served_ before he’d lost all control over the situation) and dragged his larger hands up the backs of the anchors and up to grasp the, apparently naked fleshy backside of his coquettish wife. She moaned into his mouth as his work-roughened appendages roved over her silky hide and arched when he clenched the giving flesh. It was his turn to taste her throat and the vibrations that went through her as he nibbled the length made their way down his body once more, bringing him to an even more painful attention than before.

            His ailment was hardly left unattended, however, as the prodding length was ground into a bared and damp heat that leached through his own pants and all but branded him. “Mahal, Bilbo! What ‘ave ya done ta me lass?” his voice was strained, barely audible as he fell against the door they’d come through, enjoying the waves of pleasure her little gyrating arse was sending through him. Her mewling had him thrusting before he’d thought it through and her nimble fingers freed his throbbing length before he’d had a moment to think of how she’d learned _any_ of this, never mind how she was keeping her balance on his waste as she maneuvered the pair into a sexual congress. The feel of that moist furred portal on his own over heated tool woke something fierce in him as he turned the pair and thrust into her, bracing her against the door this time, his hands ripping through the wrinkled wedding dress, baring swelling breasts to his eager mouth. But with that wild thrust was a clear ripping of some barrier as his prick found its new home, and that ripping killed that wild ferocity and replaced it with keen fear as he lifted his face from its newest bounty to stare in shocked horror at his freshly deflowered wife.

            “Eru! Damnit Bofur! _Move_!” Bilbo’s flushed face and fevered eyes barely registered the discomfort of such a violent breaching, but they were showing a rather lot of her dissatisfaction with the pause in the previous play. She used her rather strong thighs to throw herself up and but onto his immobile dick. A member who quickly regained any rigidity it had lost to its host’s momentary fear, and then was all but crying as the walls of its new home apparently clenched and unclenched around it. Bofur’s groan as his wife showed off another of her amazing little talents was long and grumbled. With new vigor he continued to rut into his hobbit, now watching her as he took his pleasure and searched for the purest source of her own. Grabbing her thighs he inched her forward and tipped her to be just slightly angled from his own ministrations and expelled a breath in a scratchy chuckle at her sudden scream. The laugh was cut short as tiny hands reached out and dug into the braids at either side of his head, reining him into a cushioned chest where those mewling screams were not only heard but felt as they shivered through him. Three more rough thrusts accompanied with the brushing of his mustached mouth trailing over the exposed mounds of flesh and his hobbit was keening as her muscled clamped onto his person and milked his own release from his taught body.

            It was a well-known fact that dwarrow were built to endure, and that’s all that kept the two newly mated pair from falling to the floor in a heap of quivering mess. As it was Bofur collapsed right on top of Bilbo as soon as he’d managed to stumble them to the unused bed. After a few moments of harsh breathing, when the tremors had subsided, Bofur moved to take the rags that had been their wedding garb from and used some of the cleaner bits with some water from a pitcher, courteously left on the bedside table, to wash away the blood that his wife had spent to purchase the end of her virtue. Surprisingly, after all that had just transpired that eve _this_ was what had his little lass blushing once more. And he’d be damned if his dick didn’t twitch at the sight of that pink flesh trailing over plump cheeks up tipped ears and down to a veritable bounty of mammary.

            Their second coupling was something sweet and far more exploratory as the newlyweds learned what elicited the most curious and sinful chirps from their better half.

            And if sometime after their _third_ coupling his little minx grabbed his hat from the floor, popped it on her own head and straddled his hips with that same saucy look she’d skewered him with at dinner… well he’d die a happy dwarf this night, no two questions about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and I'm starting a sequel to this set so stay tuned for another 15 chapters of mayhem and music :)
> 
> Sequel Up!
> 
> [Hiding From Homicidal Hobbits](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1030595)


End file.
